


The 12 Labors Of Steve Rogers

by DumpsterDiving101



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Ancient Greece, Arranged Marriage, Consent, Consent Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Family Drama, Family Feels, Forced Marriage, Legend: Twelve Labors of Heracles (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), M/M, Manipulation, Mount Olympus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Multi, Open Marriage, Open Relationships, Other, Peter parker is thousands of years old therefore is not underage, Polyamory, Prostitution, Protective Peter Parker, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Sex Worker Peter Parker, Twelve Gods of Olympus (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Underworld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-02 07:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19436509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterDiving101/pseuds/DumpsterDiving101
Summary: The great hero Heracles only has one labour left until he can claim a spot on the Olympian council. All he has left to do is retrieve the three-headed dog Cerberus from Hades, the Lord of the Underworld. However, when he gets there it appears as though things are not as they seem. Hades offers insight into the recent disappearance of Zeus, and Heracles is forced to question everything he thought he knew about his supposed 'family'.Includes Steve as Heracles, Bucky as Hades, Maria Hill as Persephone, and Peter Parker as a river spirit.





	1. Chapter 1

**_Heracles_ **

  


The walk down to the outskirts of the universe is tedious, and the entire time Steve feels like the forces beneath are trying to pull him closer. He stumbles and slips every few steps to the point where he tries inching his way along the staircase, but that just makes the tugging motion stronger. As he gets deeper into the pit he can feel the walls pull at him as well, until the entire cavern seems to be trying to lure him in and soak him up like a sponge. A lesser man would have already lost his wits; in fact, Steve is sure that lesser men _had_ lost their wits, in this staircase to hell, if the shapes jutting out of the walls like hands is anything to go on. The entire place reeks of despair and a dewy, wet nothingness. It makes Steve want to leave, or perhaps go faster. He can do neither. His path has closed behind him; to go back is to be buried alive. Likewise, if he speeds up he will surely slip and tumble his way down the remaining steps, though Steve has a feeling if he gives in to a full fall then he will never find the ground.

Steve has never been to Hell, but Hell has been to Steve. Steve knows her voice, her pointed fingertips scraping from his nape down his back in the midst of a battle. Melinoë, the goddess of madness and nightmares, dwells down here. Steve hopes only that he doesn’t meet her face to face; the fingernails were enough.

For a moment Steve loses his focus and the pulling becomes stronger. The echoes grow louder, glancing off the glowing obsidian walls. Steve almost loses his balance. The staircase is a spiral, but Steve feels as though he can see straight down it to Tartarus.

Steve does not want to be here. But he’s done worse things than descend a staircase for his cause, and all those times he persevered. This time will be no different.

Steve trips when he gets to the bottom because it doesn’t _look_ like he’s at the bottom. The staircase appears to keep going, but he’s standing on solid ground, so how…

“Darling, don’t stare too long. You’ve left the human world, things are much more… malleable here.”

The voice was a feminine purr, dripping with an emotion Steve didn’t have a word for. All he knows is _fearfearfearFEAR_ , and before he could process anything else his shield is off his back, raised defensively. The woman is at least twenty feet away, but even from that distance Steve could see her sneer through the darkness and fog. Her hair is black and pulled back like a warrior, and her robes were made of pure darkness. Her skin is pale, as if it had been a long time since she’d seen the light of day.

Her mouth dropped the sneer, but her eyes held it. She sniffed, examining him. “Well. At least you’re not trying to walk your way into Tartarus anymore. I’d let you, but my husband would be horribly upset.”

Steve didn’t lower the shield. “Your husband?”

“Yes dear, Hades. Have you heard of him?”

  


—————

The woman didn’t introduce herself after that; she didn’t need to. Steve immediately knelt. “Lady Persephone.”

She didn’t smile. In fact, she hardly reacted. A muscle by her nose twitched slightly, a mix of amusement and disgust. “On your knees already. My husband really will like you.”

“Um… what?”

She waved him up and turned, not checking to see if he followed. “Yes, yes. You entered through the path of Orpheus; we haven’t had one of you in a while. Tell me, did you have a good year? Was the journey pleasant?”

Her tone is so sarcastic that it takes Steve a moment to process the words. “A good… year?” Sure, the journey had felt long, but not a _year_ long.

“Yes. Time is different down here, or didn’t your _sponsors_ tell you? There is a reason mere mortals don’t search out the path of Orpheus, and it’s not just because they wouldn’t be able to open the gates. Speaking of… how exactly did you force them open?”

She turns back, and her pale skin against the dark of her clothes and their surroundings is such a sharp contrast Steve finds himself, once again, lost for words. When she realizes, she rolls her eyes and looks forwards again.

“Erm… I didn’t have to force the gates. They just… opened.”

Persephone sniffs indignantly. “Of course. They always liked the arts, though I always doubted the _visual_ arts could persuade them. Not that I blame them.”

She speaks of the gates as if they were physical creatures. They probably are; as Steve performed his labors his worldview became increasingly distorted. Objects that were once not-living were suddenly alive; people who were once non-humans were suddenly human.

It all gives Steve one big headache. Hopefully his labors would be ending soon; he’d been trying to prove himself for the last 67 years. Well, 68 years, if the goddess was to believed. What must the Olympians think? Did they search for him? Or did they assume that he’d already failed?

The reminder is enough for Steve to straighten his shoulders, set his jaw. Persephone watches him with a slight amusement, like she can read everything he is thinking and she thinks he is stupid for it all.

Steve doesn’t let it deter him. “Ma’am, I am here on a quest. I have been ordered by Zeus—”

“Howard sent you?” Persephone asks, her lips twitching up in a real smirk this time.

Steve immediately falters. “Well… yes… sort of. Indirectly. He ordered me to do these labors, you see, um, twelve of them, and then he put his son in charge—”

“Hmpf. That does sound like Dad, doesn’t it.” In the near distance a dark palace can be seen looming over them. Persephone doesn’t seem surprised, so Steve tries to keep his amazement to himself.

“Yeah… wait, you’re Zeus’s kid too, right?”

“Howard. And yes, unfortunately. Him and Demeter— it’s disgusting, don’t make me think about it. Let me guess— you’re a Demi? He hooked up with a mortal then ditched?”

“My mom was _not_ a mortal. She was… a _princess,_ of the line of _Perseus_ …”

“Sweetie,” Persephone interrupts. “We have plenty of princesses down here. If you want to impress me, you’ll have to try harder.”

Steve is shamed into silence, which is just as well, because they are at the gates of the palace. Persephone waits patiently as the large wooden gates (polished mahogany) swing open, operated by wisps of smoke that take human form only to pull the chains before dissipating. Persephone doesn’t give them a second look before leading Steve inside.

The palace doesn’t look as much like a dungeon on the inside as it does on the outside. The walls are made of dark stones, but the first room they walk into is an open aired courtyard. Balconies jut out from the various buildings and towers, the stones making them up arranged in decorative patterns. The black marble floor is sprinkled with something white that glitters, giving it the effect of the night sky. It is cut in places, forming large beds of flowers and other flora. They glow with the same light as the goddess does, like they were meant to survive in the sunlight, yet somehow were even stronger without it.

Persephone leads him silently through the courtyard. A door opens for her without her ever having to push it and she proceeds without a misstep, her robes dragging through the marble on the ground like they can’t decide if they wanted to be real or not.

The next room is another courtyard, this one set up with delicate French tables of twisted black steel. This room appears to be more private than the other one, like the other was the formal entrance, but this is a room that people actually live in.

Well, ‘live’ probably isn’t a good verb to use. They are, after all, in the underworld. That thought alone makes Steve’s legs begin to shake.

A man is standing to the side, arguing with a few ghostly servants. As they got closer, Steve can just make out the conversation:

“...it’s offensive, that's what it is. I don’t give a fuck about Aphrodite, why would I want a statue of her fucking _kid_ in my garden… no, I don’t care that it’s romantic! He’s a chubby _baby_ , and I don’t want to stare at him spurting water or his little baby balls while I’m eating my paninis…”

One of the spirits garbles something that sounds completely unintelligible to Steve, but makes the man nod and wave his hand. “Fine. But I don’t want to see it again, okay? It’s creepy as fuck.”

“Husband,” Persephone announces formally. “I have returned.”

The man turns towards them and Steve immediately sucks in a breath. He has shoulder-length Brown hair and dark, deep set eyes. The light of the underworld cast dramatic shadows across his face making him seem even more ghostly, yet… he still looks like the most alive thing in the room. He lacks the sickly glow of his wife, and his clothes don’t shift like smoke with his every move.

There is _a_ resemblance to his wife, however; Steve feels a spike of fear just _looking_ at him. His body doesn’t diminish that fear in the slightest; he is lithe and built at the same time, with a metal arm that moves as easily as if it were human, and a formal stature that makes Steve want to kneel. _Kneel._ Fuck, right.

Steve immediately drops to one knee and bows deeply. “My Lord, Hades. I am deeply humbled by your presence.”

There is silence for a few moments, and Steve dares to glance up. Hades is staring at him with his arms crossed, not looking displeased, but… he doesn’t really look like anything at all. He turns to his wife, kissing her cheek in greeting. “Maria. What the fuck is this?”

“ _Who_ the fuck is this,” she corrects easily. “He’s a hero. He came in through the path of Orpheus.”

“Yeah? Where’s his harp?”

“He doesn’t have one. The way I understand it… the rocks parted simply because he’s _hot._ ”

“Well, I can’t say I blame them.”

Steve knows it’s horribly rude, but he couldn’t help himself: he cleared his throat. “Um, my lord—”

“Mm-hmm?”

_Is Steve allowed to stand?_ Normally he’d be told to rise, or something, but either he’s fucked some part of the etiquette up or Hades just doesn’t know what he’s doing. “Um, I am the hero Heracles, son of—”

“Let me guess: Zeus?”

“Bingo,” Persephone says dryly.

“That horny bastard. But something tells me you’re not just a Demi. Let me guess, your mom was a nymph, minor goddess? One of the muses?”

“Howard’s not supposed to screw the muses,” Persephone reminds him.

“Yeah, but when has that ever stopped him? Um, hey… what’d you say your name was?”

Steve glances at his face. “Uh, Steve.”

“Heracles,” Persephone provides, rolling her eyes.

“Right. Well, Steve, you can stop kneeling. Unless of course you want to keep kneeling, in which case—”

Persephone rolls her eyes even harder. “God, you’re all horny bastards. It’s genetic.”

“Ignore her.”

“I am a _goddess.”_

“Yeah, the goddess of bitching. Come on champ, up.”

Hesitantly, Steve rises to his feet. He’d put his shield back on his back on the walk to the palace, but he has to urge to grab it again. He does everything he can to avoid doing that; he is standing in front of the literal god of the underworld. Even accidentally challenging him to a fight would be the stupidest thing Steve has ever done, and he fought the _Hydra._

Steve licks his lips, eyes darting between the gods. They are married, but there doesn’t appear to be a lot of love there. Steve’s heart aches in sympathy; he could relate all too well.

“I am… Heracles, the son of Zeus,” Steve tries again, waiting to be interrupted. He isn’t, so he continues. “I have been given… twelve noble labors, as a penance for my crimes.”

“Your crimes,” Hades repeats, looking interested. Gods, Steve hates explaining this.

“Yeah. Um, I used to be really sickly and uh, I was doing this questing stuff when I was fifteen and I was… well, drugged, roofied actually, but I was alone, so it was fine… and I was on Olympus, in the Royal Hall, and I got the munchies, so I went to the communal fridge and there was this pint of _milk_ , so I drank it, and it turned out to be—” he winces. He _hates_ this story. “It turned out to be Hera’s breast milk. The serum in it fixed my health problems, and made me… big and strong and stuff. But I wasn’t supposed to drink it, so I’ve been spending the last 67— _68_ years doing labors to prove myself worthy.”

Hades grimaces. “That _sucks._ Which one are you on?”

“Number 12.” The number feels like nectar in Steve’s mouth. “It’s my last one. I just need to finish it, and it’s supposed to be the hardest one yet. The others don’t think I’ll be able to do it, but they didn’t think that about any of them…”

His voice trails off as he notes the god’s posture changing. He no longer looks sympathetic; he looks tired, but stern. He looks like Steve looked like before the greatest trial of his labors. He looks ready for a fight.

“So you came to the underworld,” Hades fills in for him. “I’m guessing it’s not a social call? My family doesn’t want to check in after all these years, huh? Well, I personally am absolutely shocked. What a fucking surprise.”

Persephone shakes her head and puts a pale hand on her husband’s shoulder in solidarity.

Steve still isn’t quite sure what is going on, but luckily he doesn’t have to ask. The god levels his eyes on Steve’s, already ready for whatever challenge Steve has in store, like it is _Hades_ that has to do the labor, not Steve. “So? What is it? Let me guess: you have to cut off my ear? Defeat me in battle? Or did you come for Maria?”

This is not going well. This is really, really not going well. “Um, no… your majesty. I, uh. I didn’t come for you, or your wife. I… came for your dog.”

Both gods stare at him like he is the stupidest person they’ve ever met.

Steve feels his face heat up. “Uh. Yeah.”

Hades blinks at him, like he isn’t quite sure what sort of idiot he is dealing with, just that they are, in fact, an idiot. Steve isn’t about to disagree; he certainly _feels_ like an idiot.

Hades snaps his fingers twice and a dog poofs into existence. He is practically still a puppy, a medium sized black dog with a deep purple underbelly and snout— snouts, actually, because Cerberus has three heads.

Steve tries not to stare.

The puppy jumps up on its owner, getting fur all over Hades’ clothes. Hades snaps his fingers at him again, quietly ordering “No, down boy, _down,_ we have _guests._ ”

Cerberus doesn’t give a shit. It is the most endearing thing Steve has seen since Geryon’s cattle butted up against his legs like kittens.

The biggest surprise, however, isn’t the cute puppy; it’s how easily Hades handles the cute puppy. He isn’t overly formal or strict. He just acts like a normal person would.

Finally, Hades manages to get his puppy under control. Cerberus sits at his feet, wagging his tail and panting out of all three mouths.

“This is my most regal attack dog, the three-headed devil Cerberus,” Hades introduces, sneering a little. Oh, so that’s where his wife got it from. “Tremble in fear, mere mortal.”

Steve isn’t going to tremble in fear, but he probably could’ve giggled. Cerberus is _adorable_. Still, he has to focus. “Um, yes, my lord. He is the most… fearful creature I have ever seen.” He coughs to hide his smile.

Something shifts in Hades’ expression, so minute Steve almost misses it. He uncrosses his arms. “What about me?”

Steve’s throat goes dry as he glances up at the dog’s master. That body… hot diddly damn. The river styx couldn’t burn away that muscle definition. “Um, what about you? My, uh, master.”

The word ‘master’ makes Hades’ mouth twitch upwards. “What about me?” He repeats. “Am I one of the most fearful creatures you’ve ever seen?”

He steps forwards as he speaks and Steve has to suppress the urge to step back. “Um, oh yeah, definitely. You’re definitely… up there. I’m just… terrified.”

Hades circles him like a vulture, and Steve has to try to keep his composure even as the dog stares at him with three cocked heads. He can handle this, he can handle this, he can…

Cerberus stands, raises his leg, and pees, right in the middle of the courtyard. He then sits back down in the piss.

Steve snorts and a finger is immediately shoved into his side. “Ow! Um, sorry, I meant… oh. Um.”

He doesn’t know what to do. Cerberus had _peed_ and then _sat_ in it. He can’t be expected to remain stoic through that!

“Your dog is really cute,” Steve adds unhelpfully.

“He is,” Hades says in an attempt to sound menacing. “He’s the cutest, and such a good boy, and you want to _kill_ him.”

Cerberus whines— not like he is sad, but like he thinks he is about to get a treat. Steve thinks sympathetically that any creature’s perception of death would likely be warped from living in the underworld.

Then the words process and Steve turns around in horror. “Kill him? No! I would never— I just need to bring him back with me to Mount Olympus. I would never hurt him, he’s such a good boy and…” Steve trails off when he realizes just how close Hades is standing to him. He can’t help himself; his eyes flick down to Hades’ lips.

Forbidden fruit indeed.

As if sensing his gaze, Hades licks his lips. Gods-damn. Steve did not expect the labor to go like this.

“So what?” Hades asks, voice low, sensual. “You want to… borrow my dog? Were you going to at least ask?”

Steve’s mind is so fuzzy with _something_ that he can hardly think. “Uh… no. I mean, yes, I would have, I just… hadn’t thought that far.”

Hades nods sympathetically. “After all, it’s not like you had a year to think about it or anything.”

Steve cringes again. “It didn’t feel like a year. I thought it was just a few hours.”

Hades steps even closer, making just about every system in Steve’s godly-enhanced body shudder with excitement. Those _lips._

From across the room, Persephone sighs dramatically. “I’ll leave you too it. Bucky, don’t let him kill my dog.”

Hades doesn’t even break eye contact. “Got it, babe.”

Steve can’t pull his gaze away, but he can hear Persephone walk past them, high fiving Hades (Bucky?) on her way out. “Go gettum tiger.”

There’s a lot to process there, and that isn’t exactly Steve’s strong suit, especially when face to face with the sexy as hell (literally?) god of the underworld. All he manages to say is a slightly awkward “Bucky?”

The god’s lips curl up in a grin. “That’s my personal name.” He reaches up, cupping Steve’s chin in his hand. “It sounds good on your lips.”

Persephone is right; the underworld is a very malleable place. Steve, personally, feels like he is about to melt into a puddle of clay at the god’s touch. “Bucky,” he repeats, tasting the word. “Bucky.”

Bucky hums, moves a little closer, wraps his arm around Steve’s waist. His other hand, the flesh one, stays underneath Steve’s chin, tilting it up so Steve stays looking him in the eyes. “Fucking beautiful,” he mutters. “Alright. You can borrow my dog. But I swear to Nyx, if you hurt a single hair on her head I will personally design an eternal punishment for you worse than anything we have ever seen before, and the baseline is being flayed alive while listening to country music. Do we have an understanding?”

Steve tries not to show how much of an emotional puddle he is. At the moment, his brain is going something like _blehblehprettyeyedhehhrh_ and he’s having a rough go with any other sort of legitimate cognition. Luckily, his last two brain cells kick in before he makes a complete fool of himself. _The dog, you idiot._

 _“Yes,”_ Steve says quickly. “That would be… great, lord Hades—”

“Bucky,” he corrects, and Steve melts a little more.

“Bucky,” he repeats. _Buckybookyfickyfucky,_ his mind garbles.

Bucky looks amused. Steve wonders if all the gods of the underworld can read minds, or if he is just especially stupid looking today. Possibly both.

Bucky pulls away, and Steve finds himself struggling to stand up without any additional support. The god smells… so _warm._ It isn’t like the cold embrace of death Steve would have expected.

“You can borrow my dog,” Bucky continues, smirking slightly, “no strings attached. However, if you’d like, I’d love for you to stay a while. I could give you a tour.”

“A tour,” Steve repeats, head still groggy with lust even as it is beginning to clear. “Wait, a tour? A… a _tour_ tour?”

“A _tour_ tour,” Bucky agrees. He bites his lip seductively. “If you’ll have me.”

Steve blinks the spots out of his vision. “No strings… no strings attached?”

The man stands a little taller, the smile disappearing momentarily. “No strings attached. I am not my brother.”

My brother. _Zeus_ , his mind provides. Hades, of course, is one of the eldest gods, the children of Kronos. There is him, Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Hestia, and Demeter, as well as Aphrodite, who is the eldest of them all, though she isn’t from Kronos. So far Zeus, Poseidon, and Hera have retreated into oblivion, leaving the remaining gods to hurriedly fill their spots. Steve’s own betrothed is currently taking care of the responsibilities of two gods.

Hades— Bucky— seems to follow his train of thought. “Your father makes no difference to me. That’s the past. Right now… I’m more focused on the present.”

He steps forwards again, arm curling around Steve’s waist possessively, so close that Steve can feel his heart beat. In this world of the undead, it’s ruler is vividly, startlingly alive. He nuzzles against Steve’s neck, soft lips just barely touching his skin, patient, waiting. “I want you,” he murmurs, low. “Do you want me?”

Steve’s last two brain cells are jumping up and down in excitement. “Your wife?” Steve gasps out a little as those lips start pressing subtle kisses on his bare neck.

Bucky hums against his skin. He is still holding Steve, but to Steve’s surprise, he is also holding Bucky. They rock against each other subtly, like the end of a slow dance when there is no longer any need for footwork.

“She is fine with me having my fun. Gods know she has her own. And I think you saw her expressing some pretty explicit consent earlier.”

He is right. Still, Steve has to dip his toe in to test the waters. This is the _underworld_ — he can’t get too excited. “Persephone,” he mumbles, still rocking against him in their stationary slow dance in the middle of the courtyard. “She’s trapped here. She… she came down here, she got lost and came down here, and she ate three pomegranate seeds and became trapped here forever, for half of the year. She, she… she’s trapped.”

Bucky pulls away, looking disappointed and… offended? “First of all, that’s Zeus’ misogynistic spin on it. My wife didn’t get lost, she seeked this place out.” A smile plays on his lips. “In fact, she got here the same way you did, through the gates of Orpheus. But she didn’t use her physical appearance to get in.”

“Yeah? What’d she use?”

“Her _passion_ ,” Bucky bites, eyes shining with pride. “She ranted to the stones how she was sick of the lot she was given. The stones opened for her and offered her a new lot. She just had to take it.” He grins even wider. “She ate the pomegranate seeds so she’d have some bargaining power. She didn’t want to be trapped here all year, and frankly, I don’t blame her.” He reaches out and grasps Steve’s hand, like he knows the fear that Steve had felt upon seeing this place for the first time. “Her mother eventually arranged a compromise: six months here, and six months there.”

Steve swallows. He can imagine the taste of the pomegranate seeds, _one, two, three,_ easy as that. Once you make that type of decision, it only takes a moment, half a second to carry out. _One, two, three._

He swallows again, meeting Bucky’s eyes with his own. “I heard that Demeter weeps the six months that Persephone is gone, and that’s why we have winter.”

Bucky just rolls his eyes at that. “Sweetie, once we’re done with this let me take you to my office. It’s about time someone ought to teach you about the rotation of the Earth.”

Bucky reaches forwards again and Steve backs away instinctually. He wants this— fuck, just looking at that body, that Adam’s apple, those eyes, he wants this, him, _bad_ — but he isn’t allowed it, right? There is a reason… reasoning… something.

“I’m betrothed to someone else,” Steve blurts out. Bucky frowns.

“What’s their name?”

He bites his lip. They are really going through the ‘I hate talking about this’ list awful fast. “Wanda, uh, Hestia… slash Hecate, I guess. She took over Hecate’s job recently, it’s kind of… complicated.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Of fucking course, you’re betrothed to my sister. Do you love her?”

Steve stares at him. “What do you think a betrothal is?”

He sighs. “Alright, well, you’re not married yet. And everyone on Olympus has loosey-goosey rules with that anyways, Hera’s the only one who is ever actually committed and that’s because she’s a prick with an image to maintain.”

“Hey, you’re married too,” Steve says, feeling like he has to at least try to defend his home. “You’re married and you’re still trying to get in my pants.”

“Yeah, but that’s different. We’re in an open relationship. It’s not cheating if it’s consensual. Up on Mount Olympus, no one cares about shit like that.”

Steve racks his brain for another problem. He can’t sleep with Bucky— Hades— Bucky— because… because… because…

“If you don’t want me,” Bucky says carefully, giving Steve his space, “I already told you, it’s fine. You don’t have to make excuses. You can take my damn dog, just take care of him, alright? He’s a gentle soul.”

_He shouldn’t because… because…_

“Fuck,” Steve mumbles. Bucky raises an eyebrow. Steve grabs his hand, pulling him in slowly. “ _Fuck.”_

Then they are kissing.

Once more, Steve is shocked by the god of the underworld’s _warmth._ He is at least as warm as another human, if not warmer. The metal arm wraps around Steve’s waist once more and the other hand cups Steve’s jaw, guiding the kiss but not being forceful. He is a god, but Steve still has all the power in the world to say no, to take the god’s damn dog and head on his way, but, but…

Steve doesn’t _want_ to say no.

Not even a little.

They migrate over to side of the courtyard, leaning up against the stone wall like young lovers. A sense of urgency beats in Steve’s mind, but it is overwhelmed by the desire to take his time. They are in the underworld, and Steve isn’t sure if the time dynamics work the same as they do in the passage of Orpheus, but if they do then he’ll probably have spent at least six more months arguing with the god; he might as well spend the next year or two getting his brains fucked out by him.

The kissing is easy and comfortable in a way that kissing never has been before. It may have been a god thing, except Steve has kissed other gods before. But never… like this.

Bucky takes the lead, pressing Steve gently against the wall and pinning him there with his body as they kissed. It is sexual, definitely, but the smooth rocking of his body against Steve’s feels more companionable than anything.

“You’re fucking beautiful,” Bucky whispers when Steve starts trailing a line of kisses down his jaw, not moving to his neck quite yet. He presses his hands up underneath the god’s shirt, splaying them across warm, bare skin. “So fucking beautiful, Stevie. So glad my wife brought you to me, so glad you came down here… ah, there, right there, that’s so fucking good. Right, right, right—” he caught his breath, freezing under Steve’s grip. Steve pulls away carefully, checking Bucky’s expression.

“Bucky?”

At the sound of his name Bucky lets out a little groan, his eyes fluttering closed. If Steve is honest, he looks on the verge of orgasm, but that isn’t right. They haven’t been going for that long, and there hasn’t even been that much hip rocking.

Bucky blinks his eyes open, and a grin spreads across his lips. “Com’on, let’s get out of here. Trust me, stone is not the appropriate surface to make love on.”

Steve laughs lightly, smiling broadly. “Yeah, is that what we’re going to do? Make love?”

“Oh baby, I don’t know how to do anything else.”

He wraps a smooth, uncalloused hand around Steve’s wrist and tugs him forwards. Soon they are running together, almost side by side, barreling through the halls and various courtyards and patios, hallways lit by torchlight that probably would’ve seemed ominous earlier but now seemed romantic, alluring, mysterious in the best way. Multiple times they have to stop and push against each other again, kissing firmly, heads tilting and mouths open. It is intimate in a way Steve isn’t used to sex being. It’s supposed to just be a process, a basic bodily function that works best with a partner, though a partner isn’t strictly necessary. This is so much more.

And they haven’t even gotten their pants off.

Finally, _finally_ , they get to a bedroom. It is Bucky’s, and if Steve could think about anything else he’d probably admire the artwork, comment on the laundry pile in the corner (all black), make a joke about the smooth, rich mahogany bed posts, but by that point he is too strung out to do anything but whine and start shucking his pants. Bucky stops him immediately, mouths pressed together in another kiss as he works Steve’s pants open for him, separating only to yank them down. He helps Steve step out of them and then kisses up his bare legs, the side of his torso, his chest, and then is stripping Steve’s shirt off and kissing him on the lips again, scraping his nails _hard_ down his back. Steve tries to return the favor, though he isn’t quite as graceful as the god. But soon enough they are both naked, falling onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs and kisses, rolling like they both want to be on top and on bottom at the same time, until eventually Steve is on top and kissing his way down Bucky’s defined torso, past his belly button, lower, lower…

Bucky props himself up on one elbow and sighs in pleasure. It is pleasure in the purest form of the word: satisfaction and enjoyment and plain old _happiness._ Steve knows he's starved for this type of comfort, the type of comfort that comes from plain, unadulterated happiness, and he wonders how long it had been since Bucky had felt the same way. He has Persephone, of course, his Maria, but Steve had been in the underworld for a while now and she is the only other one with any sort of physical form that he had seen. The courtyards were beautiful, but they were _empty._

These thoughts just make Steve redouble his effort, putting his all into giving the god the best damn blowjob of his life. He can feel the man getting closer, but before he can cum he is pulling Steve into another body-mind-innards-and-all kiss. He moans at the taste and pushes Steve’s hips down so he isn’t holding his weight up off of Bucky anymore, letting him collapse on top of him. Bucky leans back and Steve follows. They kiss laying down in full, the mix of nudity and sexual tension and sweat and the taste still in Steve’s mouth all combining to form a pit of desire in his stomach that he just wants filled.

“Fuck,” Bucky mutters against Steve’s mouth. “Fuck. So good.”

If it is possible, the god sounds even more wrecked than Steve feels.

  


———————-

  


After they both finished, Steve found his eyelids growing heavy. Bucky seems to notice this, and pulls Steve down to lay against his body, rubbing his back until Steve falls asleep.  
  
Steve slept like he had no obligations ever again. He drifts in and out of a warm, foggy sleep, occasionally moving or vaguely noticing Bucky moving against him, cuddling up to become more comfortable.  
  
When he finally wakes, it is to the sound of quiet footsteps. Bucky is still there, laying against him and breathing deeply with sleep. They are still nude, filthy from their exploits, and Steve takes a moment to appreciate the body he'd fallen into bed with. Greek god indeed.  
  
The padded footsteps come closer and Steve observes the room on alert. In his labors he's dealt with more surprising dangers than he would like. The dangers didn't always come in the afternoon when Steve’s armed and ready for battle. The most threatening ones, in fact, seldom did.  
  
Steve sits up and Bucky grumbles against his chest, nuzzling him in his sleep. Steve's hand brushes through his hair even as he squints, trying to see who is there.  
  
Out from the corner a boy appears, carrying a heavy jug and a few cloths. His expression is calm and relaxed, and his skin glows slightly, not as luminescent as Persephone's but not as normal in hue as Hades'. His hair is curly and unnaturally dark black, and he wears simple black clothes, neither formal robes nor rags.  
  
He observes the pair in bed cautiously, but doesn’t stare. Steve is unashamed in his nudity, and the boy seems so relaxed about the entire ordeal that Steve can’t help but assume the entire thing is normal for him. 

Bucky stirs when the boy sets the jug down. Finally he yawns and stretches like a cat, smiling up at Steve before relaxing against him again and looking over to the boy. “Morning, Pete’. Sleep well?”

“Not as well as you apparently did,” Peter says cautiously. He dumps one of the rags in the water and offers it to Bucky, who takes it and immediately starts cleaning the remnants of the previous night off of their bodies. Steve is expecting cold water, but instead the washcloth is hot like a luxurious bath. He shifts to make the angle better for Bucky, and when his body is mostly clean he takes the cloth back to clean Bucky. Before he can however, Peter is taking the cloth back, washing it in the warm water, and returning it freshly cleaned and reheated. Steve tries not to go bright red in the face and focuses on cleaning Bucky, who lounges and allows it thankfully. They’re still pressed close enough to be touching in multiple spots and the contact is incredibly alien yet familiar at the same time, like something that Steve has always searched for but never had.

Once Bucky is cleaned he stretches again, groaning and twisting in a way that’s so utterly human that Steve can’t help but stare. He curves and arches his back, grunting when there’s a crackling noise, and sighs into the mattress again.

“I have collected and washed your clothes,” Peter states matter of factly, like this is just any other day for him. The only thing that betrays that it isn’t is the slight smile playing on his lips. “Would you like your old clothes back or should I—”

“Get him robes,” Bucky orders easily, still stretching out. “We can give his clothes more time to dry.”

“Yes sir.”

Peter leaves immediately, obedient. Once he’s gone, Steve turns to Bucky, who is still smiling like a cat, dreamy and fucked out. “You have good help,” Steve notes.

“The best,” Bucky agrees. “The spirits keep everything running smooth as sand. Maria and I tend to our duties. It’s… pleasant.” His words encourage but his tone and the way his eyes drift give him away.

Steve lays back, face to face with the man, close enough that he can feel the small puff of his breath, and see the sunspots on his face, long faded. “It doesn’t sound pleasant.”

A self-deprecating smile slowly forms on the god’s face. “You’ve found me out; the god of the underworld doesn’t like the underworld. Surprise, surprise.”

Steve sits up again and groans when Peter comes back, this time with black robes draped over his arm and a new pitcher and mugs in his hands. He moves silently unless addressed in a way that suggests that if Steve and Bucky want to continue their activities from the night before, they wouldn’t be interrupted.

Peter pours them each a mug from the new pitcher, this one full of clear, cool water. Once that is done he retrieves the first pitcher and a new cloth and kneels, asking “Sir, may I wash your feet?”

The flush returns to Steve’s face and he checks Bucky to see what the appropriate response is. Bucky shrugs. “I would.”

“Alright,” Steve says, albeit hesitantly. He sits on the edge and Peter reached out, but Steve remembers just in time and jerks away from the bed, hurrying over to the pile of clothes on the chest in the corner. “Let me just… clothes.”

When he turns around— fully clothed now— he finds both Peter and Bucky looking at him in amusement. “Yes, that bothers Peter a lot,” Bucky says sarcastically. “Come on, now your feet are extra dirty. Let the boy wash them.”

Steve returns to his original position, but he knows he made the right decision about clothes when Peter kneels almost between his legs and takes one foot, cleaning it with a practiced ease. The pleasant haze of sleep has mostly left Steve at this point, and other more important things— like say, his life’s work— come back to mind. “Where’s my shield?”

“You dropped it in the courtyard. I’ll have the boy bring it to you at breakfast.”

Steve’s stomach rolls right on cue, and rightly so; apparently, he hasn’t eaten in a year. But he can’t forget himself. “Is there anything I can…”

Peter switches to the other foot, cleaning it with smooth, warm strokes of the washcloth. It’s horribly distracting, and Steve knows he’s in the underworld but he keeps forgetting that he’s _in the underworld._ His perceptions have been flipped and fucked; the mission was supposed to half a day of cold, fighting, and kidnapping a dog from it’s furious owner. Approximately none of that will come true.

“The rules have changed ever since Persephone found the loophole,” Bucky answers in response to the question Steve didn’t finish asking. “If _mortals_ eat any food from the underworld, they will be forced to stay. But you have gods’ blood in you, so you’ll be fine. I can’t say I mind the change in the rules.”

“It makes dinner parties so much less awkward,” Peter adds helpfully. “Or, it would, if Hades ever had anyone over.”

“Shut your dog mouth,” Bucky says, but so lightly that Peter just grins in response.

Peter finishes with Steve’s feet and looks up at him from where he kneels in between his legs. “Is there any way else I can serve you, my lord?”

There are a lot of implications in that statement, but Steve does his best to ignore them. “Um, no, I’m good.”

Bucky is at his back then, and Steve can feel his knees on either side of his hips as he kneels behind him, leaning on Steve’s back and nudging his nose along Steve’s neck. “How about a blowjob?”

Steve does his best not to jump, but judging by the way Bucky snickers in his ear, he didn’t do a very good job. The boy blinks up at him from between his legs, all long lashes and innocent smile. Steve exhales shakily. “How old are you even?”

“521 years,” Peter responds easily. “I assure you, I’m plenty old enough to consent.”

“He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to,” Bucky murmurs in Steve’s ear. “Promise. If he’s ever not in the mood, he won’t do it.”

Steve isn’t convinced. “Yeah? And how often is he not in the mood?”

It’s supposed to be a trap, a trick to get the god to say ‘Never’ and show that no, the boy didn’t really have a choice. But instead, Steve can feel the god shrug against his shoulders. “Sometimes. I’m not sure how often; time is hard here. He usually doesn’t refuse consent, because if he’s not in the mood he doesn’t offer in the first place. But it’s happened, and he is always respected. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but consent is kind of a big deal to me.”

“I’ve noticed,” Steve says, swallowing. He’s definitely noticed, but he’s also spent a lot of the time here doubting it; the Olympians have a mixed reputation, but even the ones who know to be respectful would never be this thorough. Steve clears his throat. “Um, thanks, but I really am good. Can we go to breakfast, though?”

Peter beams. He stands and brushes off his pants, quickly retrieving the pitchers. “It should be ready now; I’ll go check in on it.”

Bucky rolls his eyes playfully. “Breakfast is always ready on time.”

Peter goes a little pink. “Yeah, well, I’ll check anyways.”

Bucky rolls his eyes again as the boy leaves, but throughout the entire interaction Steve doesn’t notice any sort of hostility from either parties. It reminds him of the way Bucky and Persephone acted together; not just friends, but not romantic in the traditional way. Still, there is a warm, familiar feel to everything that Steve couldn’t help yearning for with the same hunger he feels towards breakfast— maybe even stronger.

Steve helps Bucky get dressed in his own robes. It’s the type of job that would usually be given to a servant for someone of Bucky’s rank— major god, holy _shit_ — but it’s not like it’s a difficult task, and Steve likes serving him a little bit. It feels minor in comparison to everything Bucky has done for him already.

They stroll hand in hand down the corridors, which are relatively simplistic and dark, but in no way claustrophobic. When there are ceilings they are high enough that they aren’t intrusive to either of the men (both of them being over six feet tall). The courtyards don’t have ceilings.

Finally, they reach a new courtyard that they haven’t seen yet before, this one with a very special feature: _grass._ The side of the courtyard has stone floor, fit for the delicate wrought iron tables, but the entire center is fitted with short, black grass.

“I love the color scheme,” Steve says before he can think about it. He looks over at Bucky to apologize, but stops when he sees him laughing silently.

“Thanks. Believe it or not, I think I was going through a bit of an emo phase when designing this place.”

“I never would have thought.”

“But it’s nice, isn’t it?” Bucky spreads his arms, encompassing the whole of the palace in the gesture. “The black fits with the aesthetic.”

“Yes, my husband is all about aesthetic,” Persephone comments from where she sits in the grass, leaning against a fountain. There is a journal in her lap but she sets it to the side to stand and greet her husband with a peck of a kiss. “Good morning, Darling. Heracles.”

“Um, I actually prefer Steve, Lady Persephone.” Heracles, his formal name, literally means Glory to Hera. Needless to say, Steve isn’t crazy about it.

(Mostly because Hera’s an Olympian-sized _bitch_ ).

Regardless, Persephone smiles at the offering. Giving someone your personal name means something. “I will take that into advisement, Steve. And you can call me Maria Hill.”

“Maria Hill,” Steve repeats. “Thank you.”

“What an amazing introduction,” Bucky interrupts. “No, really. Tears are welling up in my eyes, I feel so emotional, we haven’t even eaten breakfast yet and we’re already exchanging names and deepest darkest secrets—”

“Oh shut up, you big baby,” Maria Hill interrupts. “Fine. Let’s eat.”

The food, like the rest of the underworld, is surprising but definitely not disappointing. They eat fresh bread, still warm, dipped in rich red oils and served with figs and olives. On the side are fruits, all pale in color but filling and pleasing to their palettes, including a few of the infamous pomegranates that let Persephone stay down here in the first place. The seeds are juicy enough that Steve refuses to question her behaviors from that point on.

Midway through the meal Cerberus shows up, and the married couple throws him chunks of bread and olives. They try to time it just right so two or three pieces are sent at the dog at the same time, causing the heads to leap in different directions at the same time. It makes Bucky snort and once Steve gets over his initial worry, he’s grinning too.

However, the appearance of Cerberus serves as yet another not-so-gentle reminder about duty and the mission. Steve is not allowed to get too comfortable; he’s a guest, and a very temporary one at that.

After breakfast he and Bucky walk arm in arm through the halls as Bucky gives him the official tour. He’s in no rush, so Steve tries not to be either. “How long have I been here?” He asks when there’s a lag. “I mean, in earth time. Maria Hill tells me I was in the passage of Orpheus for a year.”

Bucky shakes his head. “Talking about time gives me a headache. It’s not just that it’s different down here for mortals; as a god, it’s different. I’ve gotten trapped before, when I was first assigned the underworld, and years passed without me even realizing night had fallen. We keep human habits, because at our roots, we are human… but when time like that passes without your consent, you become further and further from human. The abyss of obscurity is ever calling.” He catches Steve’s gaze and immediately shakes his head apologetically, a self deprecating smile playing on his lips. “Sorry. Too deep, too fast. But to answer your question, time passes in most parts of the underworld as it does on Earth. You were in the passage for a year, but you have only been in my palace for half a day. Does that make sense?”

Steve nods. It does, and it hurts too, a little shimmer of pain in the back of his mind, but he suppresses it. He has a mission. “I need to go back soon,” He says, even though it takes most of his super-strength to admit it. “They’ll be worried.”

Bucky watches his face carefully, assessing. He doesn’t seem to like what he finds, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Fine. Peter will escort you to a different passage out — no need to waste anymore time. You can take Cerberus, but I swear to Nyx, if you hurt my fucking dog—”

“I promise I won’t,” Steve says, smiling lightly despite the ache. “I’ll protect her with my life.”

“Don’t say that.” Bucky is in front of him now, cupping his face. His thumb strokes underneath Steve’s chin. “I don’t want to see you again under less favorable conditions. There are three places mortal souls may go to rest— I never want you sent to any of them.”

They continue talking as they walk back to the front courtyard, although the air feels darker, damper than it did before.

“What’s Peter’s deal?” Steve asks. “What’s his formal name? I’m guessing, at least, that it’s not Peter.”

Bucky smirks, but his eyes have lost their glint. “You’re right, it’s not his formal name. He goes by his personal name by choice. It’s not my place to share.”

“Could you at least tell me who his parents are? He said he’s… what, 521? So he’s immortal. His parents are… what, a nymph and a minor god? Two minor gods?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Demeter and Helios.”

“Demeter and…” Steve’s voice trails off. Helios was the sun god— emphasis on _was_. He disappeared into obscurity long before Steve was born. Clint— Apollo— took over most of his duties. Steve wondered if anyone missed the old god. “Shit. Peter’s old.”

“He’s a young immortal,” Bucky corrects. “Practically a baby. I think Helios died a few months after conceiving him.”

Steve doesn’t pity the boy for never knowing his father. Obviously, it’s more than just common; when you have a godly father, he isn’t integral in raising you like he would be in human cultures. There were exceptions, notably Hephaestus and Ares, the sons of Zeus and Hera, who Hera tried to raise in the traditional manner, what with her being the goddess of family and marriage. Obviously, Zeus didn’t care much for raising his bastard kids, as evidenced by Steve’s entire life.

Before they reach the main courtyard, Bucky pulls Steve to the side and kisses him again, pushing him up against the wall and moaning into his mouth. Steve, shocked out of his thoughts, responds as soon as he realizes what is going on. Bucky kisses him hard and Steve kisses him harder, until soon kissing isn’t enough. Steve lowers himself to his knees and tries to show the god his thanks with his mouth.

They are late, and when they finally arrive at the courtyard Peter pretends not to notice Steve’s flushed cheeks. Bucky’s cheeks don’t flush; it takes much, much more humiliation than that to make a god feel shame. Steve himself doesn’t feel shameful of the situation, but the knowing look the boy gives him does make him feel like he left his zipper down.

They say their goodbyes, and even Persephone— Maria Hill, Steve has to remember— is there to send him off. Steve and Bucky kiss again before he goes, but this one is chaste in comparison.

The underworld calls him. The palace calls him. The spirits, the fruits, the stone, the darkness of everything calls him. The god of the underworld, and his wife and their servant, call him.

Steve doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to…

He leaves.

————————

  


Peter doesn’t change that much as they get farther from the palace, but he does seem to relax a bit. He doesn’t full on drop his professional persona, but he isn’t overly professional to begin with. Either way, he seems relaxed.

“Bucky told me about your parents,” Steve says, not sure why he is so insistent on harassing the boy, but it’s not like he could help it. Peter is much older than Steve, but younger at the same time; he works for Hades, but they appear to have more than just a work relationship; and, like everything else in the underworld, there seems to be a sense of injustice that lingers around the boy. Steve doesn’t know what it is, but he was never one for watching injustice and doing nothing.

Peter shrugs, unaffected. “Yeah? I never really knew them, so it’s not like I’m super attached. Let me guess… you’re a Zeus kid?”

Steve sighs. “Yep.”

“I meet a lot of you down here. Zeus is a real horn-dog.”

“You’re telling me.”

“And your mom?”

“A mortal, a princess. I’m told that’s not nearly as impressive here as it is on Earth.”

Peter chuckles but doesn’t disagree. “Hey, can I give you some advice?”

“Sure.”

The playful look immediately drops. It isn’t abrupt, but it is forceful enough that Steve knows he is very serious. “Don’t hurt that dog. I’m serious. I don’t care if the Olympian pricks make you immortal in exchange, don’t do it. You don’t get on Hades’ bad side. You just don’t; you might as well throw yourself into Tartarus right now if that’s your plan.”

Steve huffs. “What’s with the damn dog? I’m not going to hurt her, okay? I’m not a completely shitty person.”

“It isn’t about you.” When Steve looks back, Peter is frowning at him, like he doesn’t understand how Steve hasn’t gotten it through his thick skull yet. “Look, we’re just worried. The underworld is lonely as shit, and the Olympians have already taken enough away from Hades. They’re all first rate assholes, every one of them, okay? And if they get a single chance to fuck with him some more, you know they’ll do it. Why do you think they sent you on this quest in the first place?”

Steve thinks about it. “They just wanted to see the dog.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “And how did they want you to get the dog? Did they say they wanted you to walk up to Hades and say ‘hey, can I borrow Spot?’ Where’s the challenge in that?”

“It’s… diplomatic,” Steve defends. “They want to make me a minor god.”

“Yeah? Exactly how many diplomatic labors have they assigned you so far? In fact, how many of your labors have involved anything besides you using your meat head to take care of some problem on Earth so they don’t have to?”

_Approximately… zero._

“They wanted you to take the dog so you’d hurt Hades, or so Hades would kill you, or at the very least so that they could take his dog from him and ruin his week. The Olympians aren’t to be trusted.”

Steve would listen to the boy. He would hear him out, consider his words, give him a chance. But Peter is talking about his _family._ No, his mom is not on the court, and fine, Zeus never gave a shit. But the Olympians— at least the ones who bothered to stick around— did. They were the ones who assigned the labors, while Zeus was the one to condemn him to them. They are… they are his _family._ They are all he has.

Steve says just as much. “Look, Peter…”

“Oh, don’t ‘look Peter’ me!” Peter snaps. “My aging stopped at 19, okay, but I’ve been alive for a lot longer than them. I spend all my time around the lord of the Underworld, I know a con when I hear it, and this whole plan reeks of it! Don’t be stupid. If that dumb dog gets hurt, then none of the Olympians will be saving you.”

Steve huffs out a breath, not liking where this conversation is going. “Peter—”

“And another thing—”

“Peter!” Steve snaps. The boy closes his mouth. “We’re still in the underworld, which means I’m still a guest in your _master’s_ kingdom. Maybe you should watch what you say about my family.”

Peter keeps his mouth clamped closed, scowling. It seems to take serious effort for him to open it again to say “I’m sorry… sir. That was out of turn, please forgive me.”

“You’re forgiven.” Great, now Steve feels like an asshole. “Let’s talk about something else.”

They pass the rest of the walk talking about things that don’t matter. It’s hard to keep up, because most of Steve’s life has been spent on his labors, and Peter doesn’t want to talk about his past, but they find some commonalities. Peter shows Steve how Cerberus likes to play fetch, and gives him instructions on caring for the three-headed dog. All three heads have to eat twice a day: once in the morning and once at night, and Cerberus usually has table scraps for breakfast and raw meat for dinner. “Human meat is best,” Peter admits. “But I think she’ll understand that it’s a weird day and not hold it against you if you have to improvise.”

Finally, they arrive at a river, jets of white and blue thundering through the water completely silently. “It’s louder when I’m not here,” Peter admits. He tredges into the water until it’s up to his thighs, and despite the apparent force of it he seems to have no troubles keeping his balance. He turns to Steve and grins, raising his hands. “What are you waiting for? Come in my waters.”

Steve takes a step forwards, but doesn’t touch the water yet. Peter looks… vibrant, more so than Steve has seen him yet. It turns out that his hair isn’t actually black, it’s medium brown. How did Steve miss that? His skin glows, soft and dewey and pink, insanely alive.

Steve tries for a joking smile. _Come in my waters._ “Is that another sex thing?”

Peter tilts his head back and laughs, the noise loud and joyous in a way the boy just _isn’t._ “Yes, this is _definitely_ a sex thing,” he promises. He bats his lashes flirtatiously. “C’mon, Stevie, come in my waters. Get wet with me. Oh baby, I’m absolutely _soaking_ for you.”

“Ugh, you’re horrible.”

That just made Peter laugh again. He tredges closer to shore, the luminescent water curling around his legs in a way that water just doesn’t do. It’s so opaque that Steve can’t even see Peter’s knees from where they are submerged.

Peter holds out his hand, but Steve still hesitates. “Is this this exit point?”

“It is.”

There are water droplets, actual water droplets in Peter’s eyelashes. They glint in the light, almost impossible to look away from. “C’mon, Stevie. Go for a swim in my seas. You know you want to.”

It’s a miracle on it’s own that Steve manages to tear his eyes away from the boy. Yes, he wants to… swimming sounds really nice right now. _Especially_ with Peter.

Steve checks his things. He’s still wearing the black robes, and his shield lays slung over his back. Cerberus paws at the water, unsure. Then she leaps in and disappears under the raging current.

“Cer—!”

Unreasonably strong hands grip Steve’s face and force him to look directly in the water nymph’s face. “Steve…” Peter murmurs, and suddenly it’s just him. It’s just him. It’s just him and the water rushing around his legs, calling for Steve, _yelling_ for him, and Peter’s eyelashes are clumped together from the water, intoxicatingly beautiful.

“Pe… Peter…” Steve drones out, barely.

Peter’s eyes are half closed. He’s looking at Steve’s lips. “Steve,” he whispers.

“Pet… Pete… P… P-p, Pete…” Steve moans. “ _Peter.”_

“Shhh…”

“Pitta, peta, peet, Pete, Peter—-”

There is only the water and Peter’s eyelashes. “Shh…”

Peter leans forwards for a kiss. Steve’s heart pounds almost out of his chest. He leans forwards, over the water, he is going to kiss him, he is going to kiss him, he is going to—

Steve falls face first into the water that isn’t water. It’s _acid,_ and it boils and churns around Steve, his lungs filling with liquid as it pulls him down, far deeper than it should be. The water tears at him, ripping his limbs from his body and disassembling him. He stops choking because he no longer has a throat, he stops flailing because he no longer has a body, he is _nothing,_ nothing, and the water keeps churning and churning as it pulls him apart.

Steve gasps on the shore, digging his nails into the dirt to pull himself out. The sun blazes firey on his back, and in the background, the river is filled with the sound of a teenage boy cackling mercilessly.

Steve drags himself out of the water, feeling barely alive. He’s wearing his old clothes again, and the shield is already on shore. Cerberus swims to the shore looking notably more fine than Steve feels, all three heads bobbing above the slow-running water.

That fucking _nymph._

Steve hacks about a gallon of water out onto the shore. He’s more soaked that he should reasonably be, like instead of falling into the water and climbing back out, he was in the water for hours, _marinating_ in it. The laughter is gone, leaving only the natural sounds of the river.

That motherfucking nymph. Or Titan, actually, because Steve knows this river. If Peter is the boy’s personal name then his formal name is Acheron, and the river is named for him. He is a river spirit, so technically a naiad, but also not. Naiads are almost all female, and they can seldom be separated from their rivers, their sources of strength. Clearly Peter can leave his river, and for an extended period of time. If anything, Peter is a river god, but Steve knows enough of his background now that he has his name to know that isn’t true. Peter, or Acheron, is a titan; he fought in the Great Titan war on the side of the titans, the _bad guys_. He didn’t do any real fighting— if anything, he was a glorified waterboy— but in retaliation for his actions he was bound to one of the rivers of the underworld, which was henceforth known as the Acheron. His punishment was light, as they went, but it still condemned him to the underworld. The Acheron flows in the underworld and in the human world, which is how Steve just was spit onto Earth’s shore.

Steve can’t help but be pissed. That fucking nymph.

  


————————

Mount Olympus is covered in shrines, homes and community halls. It’s a familiar sight even if Steve has spent approximately no time inside any of them. He grew up in the human world, and when he was fifteen and started questing, he spent little time in Olympus before accidentally ingesting the serum. Ever since, he’s spent all his time laboring.

A few people stop to watch him as he walks up the mountain. Cerberus got tired after the first hour of walking so she is slung over Steve’s shoulders like a Shepherd would carry a lamb. People stare at her three heads, all of which are panting under the heat of the sun. Steve never realized how hot the human world is; after being in the underworld, where most things are a comfortable temperature if not slightly warm, the sun feels downright oppressive. He has sympathy for the pit creature over his shoulders; it’s probably been eons since she’s seen the sun, if ever.

Steve can’t help anticipating the reaction he’ll get when he enters the throne room. Many of his quests have taken years, with the slaying of Lernaean Hydra taking the longest. Actually killing the beast wasn’t the hard part— even though he had quite a few trails and errors, back when he tried to cut its heads off one by one— but the most difficult part was tracking it again once he’d lost it. The beast would find another town to terrorize, and by the time Steve caught word of it it was already on its way. If Sam hadn’t helped him, Steve wonders if he ever would’ve gotten the beast.

Many of his quests have taken years, but this one was not supposed to take more than a few days, at the very most. Instead, it took over a year of absolutely zero contact or sightings. Steve feels sympathetic; he doesn’t like hurting the people he cares about. Those people in the throne room may be his superiors, but they’re also his family.

When he does get to the throne room, they’re already in session. A man is standing in the middle of the room, explaining himself to them calmly. His dark skin pigment gives him away as something other than Greek, and it sends a shiver down Steve’s spine.

When the man finishes, he says “May Bast bless you” and the Olympians look more uncomfortable than ever. Tony, sitting in the throne of his father, is tinkering with a circuit board without looking at it, eyebags heavy under his eyes. He was the one to step in when Zeus stepped back, and though it’s been at least a mortal’s lifespan since that change, it feels shorter to the gods.

Steve is briefly reminded of Bucky. _Time is hard. When time passes like that without your consent, you become further and further from human._

He shakes his head; now is not the time to think of Hades.

The thrones on either side of Tony are both abandoned; Hera and Poseidon have both retreated. To Tony’s right, Rhodey the god of war sits, then the empty seat of Hephaestus (as Tony is sitting in Zeus’s throne), then Clint, bow over his shoulder and hair golden as always, then Sam, with his wings and caudecus, and on the very end, Bruce. Bruce’s curly hair has a laurel of grapes on top of it and, as per usual, his robes are a deep purple.

On Tony’s left the women sit: Carol, her gaze sharp like that of her sacred owls; an empty spot for Aphrodite; Pepper, sitting in her throne etched with grains; Natasha, her silver bow a mirror image of Clint’s; and on the end, Steve’s betrothed. Wanda looks all but miserable, and she keeps glancing back and forth in between the clock on the wall and the hearth in the corner, because ever since Hecate left Wanda has been pulling double duty, being the goddess of the hearth and of magic.

The speaker leaves the room and the doors close behind him. Steve hides by one of the side entrances where the servants go back and forth, refilling the gods’ goblets and offering snack buffets on the opposite side.

Tony claps his hands. “Alright,” he says, sounding every bit as tired as he looks but still holding his head high. “We have half an hour until our next meeting, I would suggest—”

Steve’s legs move without his permission, and just like that, he stands in the middle of the room, everyone slowly stopping to stare at him. Steve thumps Cerberus on the ground heavily, who immediately slumps on her paws for a nap, and Steve pants, his arms aching, his entire body sore, but he’s _home_ so it’s okay.

No one says anything.

Steve, remembering himself, falls to his knees and bows deeply. “My lords.” He waits— nothing. “I have retrieved Cerberus from the underworld for you. I have completed my labors.”

The room stays completely silent. Steve doesn’t dare a glance up, but he knows that they are exchanging looks with each other, mouthing words in hopes Steve didn’t see. But why? It’s never been a surprise what happens next.

Finally, Tony clears his throat. “Rise, faithful subject.” Steve rises, however hesitantly; he’s supposed to be an equal. He supposes there’s probably a ceremony that changes all of that. “You have… done well. You’ve gone to the underworld, a mortal, and returned with your trophy. Well done.”

Steve opens his mouth to respond, but Natasha beats him to the punch. “How exactly did you capture the beast?”

Steve looks down at Cerberus, currently drooling on the throne room floor. “The beast? She’s just a puppy.”

“I imagine Hades put up quite a fight,” Bruce says, eyes going dark with amusement. “He must’ve. You were gone for… what, at least a few months?”

“A year,” Steve corrects. Tony’s sharp gaze reprimand him without using words. Steve can be less formal with them in less formal settings, but right now he needs to keep his head on his shoulders and his humility in place. “Um, sorry. A year, my lord.”

“A year,” Clint repeats. He doesn’t look particularly upset. “Does this mean you were fighting with Hades for that long? What injuries do you sustain?”

“Oh please,” Tony mumbles under his breath. “It’s _Hades._ Why would he sustain any injuries?”

“Well, how else would he get the dog?”

“I didn’t fight with Hades,” Steve interrupts, and Tony is so surprised he forgets to glare. “I just, uh, talked.” _And fucked, but that’s not relevant._

“You talked,” Wanda repeats, eyebrows raised.

“He certainly did.” Everyone stops what they’re doing to stare at Carol. As the goddess of wisdom, she tends to observe more than talk without purpose, which meant that when she did talk everyone listened. She leans forwards, hands interlaced, drawing out the moment before saying “He has scars on his back.”

“Ohhhhh.”

“I… what?” Steve tries, without success, to see the scars she was referring to. He could feel them underneath the thin material of his shirt, but he didn’t—

_Ohhh._

They were done by Hades, just not in an act of violence. Steve hardly remembers the nails scraping down his back, but then why would he? There were much, _much_ more interesting memories from that night to remember.

Before Steve can set the record straight though, all of the gods are banging their scepters on the ground in approval. “All hail, _o ánthropos pou patísame páno se hades!”_

“All hail, _o ánthropos pou patísame páno se hades!”_

The words take a moment to process, then…

Oh _no._

 _O ánthropos pou patísame páno se hades_ , translated to English, means: The man who fucked over Hades.

Oh _No._

At his feet, Cerberus whines. “What do we do with the beast now?” Rhodey asks, frowning at it. “Stuff it?”

“We set it loose,” Natasha says evenly, being the goddess of protecting wild animals and— “then we _hunt it._ ”

“No!” Steve proclaims, too loud. Tony gives him the eyebrows of disapprovement. “No, I… I swore an oath, I have to return the dog to it’s rightful owner. _Unharmed._ I was only asked to retrieve the dog, killing it was not part of the task.”

“Well, maybe it should be,” Tony says, tone getting gradually darker.

Steve refuses to back down. “No. The task was to retrieve her; I’ve retrieved her. Sixty-eight years ago, I was told that I would earn my place as a god by completing twelve labors. I have completed them, which means payment is in order.”

The gods all look at each other uncomfortably. There are already empty thrones; it wouldn’t be hard to slot Steve in. He would take over the duties of one of the gods who’d fallen into oblivion; would he become the god of marriage? Beauty? All the seas and oceans? He could become the god of magic, and take the weight off of Wanda’s shoulders. He could help.

Or— or— well, Tony was taking over Zeus’ duties as head of the court, but there isn’t anyone in charge of ruling the skies right now. He could… it wouldn’t make him the leader of the court, of course not, and Steve doesn’t need the power, but…

The _skies._

Tony sighs dramatically. “I suppose we did give you our word. We are under orders from Zeus; we must follow them. We will throw a banquet to honor your accomplishments and give you your new position.”

“Tony, can I speak with you in private?” Natasha bites out.

“Yes.” The sparkle in Tony’s eye has grown to be a full blown glimmer, and it isn’t a happy one. “But first, I will need a private audience with our victor.”

  


———————

  


Cerberus bounds around the room with more excitement than Steve has ever seen her. She pees in every corner, under every piece of furniture, and anywhere else she damn well pleases, all while a harried wind spirit chases after trying to clean the messes as they occur.

The room is beautiful and decadent, with flowing curtains and white silk sheets on the bed. All of the furniture is made of a dark, rich, polished mahogany that reminds Steve of a certain pair of gates, with countertops of white marble. The room has gold details: fit for a god, Tony proclaims. 24 hour cleaning service, if Steve so desires, along with a 24 hour room service _._ It reminds Steve of the room he was given by the Creatian princess all those years ago. Steve slept better than he had in his entire life— only to wake up with a dagger about to be plunged through his neck.

But this room comes with no dagger-wielding Creatian princesses. It seems to be the only thing it _doesn’t_ come with, and Steve is still too busy taking it all in to notice Tony sitting on the bed with a heavy sigh.

“It’s… amazing. Thank you, Tony. Hephaestus,” he quickly corrects.

Tony waves it away. “No need for formalities anymore, kid. You’re about to become a god.”

The words make Steve’s heart speed up, and he can’t stop the grin from spreading. He looks at his feet, trying to hide it, but Tony just laughs.

He sighs, leaning back against the bedspread. “So. You’re going to become a god.”

Steve nods, giddy. “Only a few days now.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth twitches. “Well. It’s not _that_ easy.”

Steve turns to him, his smile immediately falling. “What do you mean?” It had never been easy; but Steve already preserved. The hard part is _over_ ; he’s completed his labors, that means godship.

Tony sighs, stretching his arms above his head, and once again Steve is reminded _but this isn’t the time._ “Well, you didn’t think you would just become one of the 12, right? You’ll be a minor god, and even that’s a big responsibility. You have the work your way up.”

“But I thought… I’ve already worked my way up.”

“Yeah, to godship, which no offense, but no one expected this from you. I mean, come on? The skinny 15 year old, trying to go on quests and badgering the guards to let him meet Zeus? And now look at you! It’s incredible; you’ve come a long way kid, you really have. But now is when things get real. That 61, 62 years—”

“68.”

“68, right. They were child’s play. Now this? This is the real deal. You’ll start small; official of the court. No demigod has ever lived to move to that position, but now you’ll be a _god_ so you’ll be able to do it. We’ll spend some time there, a few decades maybe, so you can learn the ways of ruling. Then you’ll be upgraded; it’ll depend on how the times have changed, but we’ll find a good spot for you. Maybe get you your own town, so you can be a patron god. That’s a pretty cushy spot, huh? Burnt offerings, your own temple, hundreds of devout followers…”

Steve swallows. “So that’s it, huh.”

Tony rolls his eyes, a playful smile on his face. Never let it be said that Hephaestus isn’t a charmer; no woman nor man had ever looked at the hunk of metal in his chest and gone _no, I think I’m good._ Not with that smile. “Now, I know I’m just the ruler of the gods or whatever, but listen, I think I know what I’m doing. What, did you think this type of thing just happened over the course of a a few decades? You kill some monsters and boom, Olympian status? No, there’s hard work to be put into it; hard work _you_ need to put into it. Trust me, being a patron god will suit you just fine.”

The rock Steve had been trying to swallow is still there, sticking in his throat and making him want to gag. “And what if I want more than that?”

“Ah, jeez, you’re really twisting my arm here. Okay, okay, you’ve got me. After you’ve been a patron god for a few centuries, we’ll promote you. Give you… I don’t know, a domain or something. You’ll be like Nemesis.”

“Who?”

“Goddess of revenge, duh! See, this is why you need the training. You can’t go Major without knowing this stuff. So you’ll get a domain. Then we’ll see, all right? But honestly, I think you’ll want to stop at patron god— if you even get that far. Remember, within a week you’re going to be the _official of the court._ Don’t look it over.” Tony stands, brushing off his clothes. He looks at Steve with a sincere expression that reminds Steve _yes, this is my friend. Tony. Tony. My friend— family._

Tony is the closest thing Steve has ever gotten to a father figure. He trusts Tony with his life. Maybe… maybe he can stand to trust him with this too.

“Thanks, Tony,” Steve says, and this time all Tony does is smile. So Steve can stop calling the Olympians by their formal names. He will get… his own robes, he supposes, and he gets to keep this room, and he will be the official of the court. The _official of the court._ “Really, Tony,” Steve continues, getting to his feet to shake Tony’s hand. “ _Thank you.”_

Tony shakes his hand firmly, looking him right in the eyes. “You’re welcome. You’re going to be great, I can already tell. Just… don’t get too comfortable, all right? Obviously _I_ believe in you, but the others don’t all feel the same way. You’re going to have to work harder than any other official of the court has, alright?”

Steve finally swallows the rock in his throat. “Alright. Th… thanks Tony. Seriously.”

  


——————-

  


Everyone is much more relaxed at the party than they were in the throne room. Steve spends the night going back and forth between gods, drinking with Sam, testing the various flavors of ambrosia with Pepper, and even dancing with Wanda. There are slow dances, but as the night grows later the party grows rowdier, and the music becomes less formal and better for _real_ dancing. Wanda kisses him full on the lips, his hands on her hips, and when the beat changes she turns around and grinds back against him.

It’s fun. The entire party is thrown in his honor, but Steve can tell that the gods all need the chance to unwind. Who knows what new stresses threatened them while Steve was gone. Whatever they were, there would be more, and Steve would have to face them as well; he is the _official of the court._

Before Tony had left his room, Steve had stopped him to ask just exactly what that meant. Tony just grinned. “You’ll just have to wait and find out, Herc.”

Steve’s veins pump hard with anticipation. The drinking, the dancing, the partying all help to clear his mind from his anxieties. Even as he has the time of his life, he notices certain things he hadn’t spent that much time on before: the cast of the shadows, for example, or the nymphs milling around, flirting with anyone and everyone. Steve had to shake a half dozen of them off of him as the night continued, especially with him being the guest of honor.

None of them have black hair. Some have light brown, or blond, but never black.

As his brain gets foggier, it becomes harder to cast away the memories of Bucky’s mouth on his, hands on him, his bare back and the strength in his legs and the way he smelled pressed close to Steve’s skin. Steve kisses plenty of people throughout the night: Wanda, mostly, but also a variety of nymphs and Sam, because Sam kept on saying he wouldn’t— but none of them felt like it did with Bucky.

He’s disposable to these people, is the problem. Bucky made him feel like no one could _ever_ replace him. It was probably just a tactic, useful in getting attractive heros into his bed, but it worked. It definitely worked.

At the end of the night he falls into a bed with Wanda. Her godly hair is pristine as ever, and she’s stripped down to just her underthings. Steve too is only wearing his undergarments, and when Wanda rubs her hand over his abs she growls at the back of her throat in appreciation.

“You will become a god tomorrow,” she murmurs, her accented voice low and deep. “It’s a gradual process, but I can already see it in you. The process has already started; when you wake up, I would guess it will have completed itself.”

Steve wants to respond, but he can’t because right then she’s kissing him again. Instead he responds to the kiss, rubbing his hand up and down her spine.

When they part, she catches her breath first. “We have been betrothed for some time now,” she teases, eyes glimmering. “The plan was to wed after you become a god. I think it may be time.”

Steve’s breath hitches. “Yeah?” He’s supposed to be… excited, he guesses? Are people arranged to be together excited for the wedding day? He doesn’t feel excited, but he doesn’t feel bad either, just… anticipatory.

“We’ll start the plans as soon as your powers come in,” she promises, already climbing over his hips, despite the underclothes they’re both still wearing. “Well. _You’ll_ start the plans. I’m a very busy woman, and besides, I don’t care about the details. I just want it to be bigger than Pepper’s last one.”

She rolls her hips, and it’s enough to make Steve choke on his response. She does it again.

“We should… ah!... plan it together. It could be a fun… couples activity, _shit_.”

She digs her hand in his underthings, palming him calmly. “Quality time is for after the wedding. You can plan it; it’ll be good for you to learn your way around Olympus.”

“O-okay. Maybe we should… maybe we should stop this, for just a minute, so we can talk about the wedding things first. I’m having a hard time… concentrating, _shit—”_

“No,” Wanda hums, not even considering. “I think we’ve already decided. And besides, I want to get off.”

“You know, we’re not married yet. You can’t tell me what to do until—”

Wanda laughs and pulls down his boxers.

————————

  


Steve wakes up in Wanda’s bed, alone. He looks around for a note, but there is none. He looks around for a water pitcher: none.

His clothes are still on the floor, so he pulls them back on and starts the trek to get to his room. The party was in one of the Olympian’s palaces, so Steve has to walk uphill a mile or so to get to the Throne Hall. Steve lives in one of the rooms in the back of the building.

He realizes when he gets into the room why it reminds him so much of the chamber in Crete; it too, is intended for visitors. It was never intended for long term stay.

Steve only realizes something is amiss when it’s too late. If the object on the bed were a danger, a spell or a drug or a venomous creature, he would’ve already died; alas, it’s not. It’s not.

The note is written in dark, blocky handwriting. It reads:

**I picked up Cerberus. She’s fine, so I suppose I won’t have to hunt you down and throw you into Tartarus or anything. Congratulations on your newfound god-hood. I’ve been kept informed on the recent development, and wish you best of luck being the official of the court. Maybe with you in charge, they’ll actually get something done.**

**-B**

  


————————

  


It turns out that what ‘official of the court’ really means is royal, official, wine intern. His biggest job is managing the servants and making sure no one's glass is ever lacking, but he does a variety of other exciting, important tasks, including (but not limited to): keeping an eye on all visitors; helping the security team upgrade their routines; coming up with new and increasingly creative ways to say “no, I don’t know where Aphrodite is and I don’t think she’s coming back”; and on more than one occasion, acting as eye candy for a god from another culture to ogle while Tony verbally abuses them.

Ever since he became a god, Steve’s found that he has a slight golden aura. He grew about an inch taller too, and for some reason, lost all of his body hair. After a week of being a divine and holy entity without so much as _stubble_ , Steve gives up hope of it ever coming back.

He has powers too, but according to Wanda, they aren’t ‘full god powers’. “You have the training wheels version,” she explains as she files her nails. “Basic immortality package. Some simple magic abilities, good for party tricks. Don’t worry, there’s always room for improvement in a few decades.”

Tony had made his rounds to the other Olympians startlingly quickly, and almost immediately they all got on board with making Steve a god. And, within a week, they _all_ have dropped the “there’s always room for improvement” line at least once.

Steve’s finally achieved his greatest dreams. Between his disappointing godliness, his wedding planning, and his new job, he’s become a second-rate kept-man wine _intern_.

If time is slow and relaxed in the underworld, it’s fast paced and constantly watched on Mount Olympus. There are clocks in every room; if Steve oversleeps he is woken by wind spirits; he suddenly has to keep track of appointments, both for godly meetings and his own wedding planning. Wanda, true to her word, leaves all of the planning up to him, to the point where he asks her opinion on something and she just gives him a pitying look. “I like them both. Stop worrying so much, I’ll like whatever you decide on.”

_Pat, pat. Whatever you want. It’s your Creative Baby; go wild. Just don’t interrupt me when I’m working, mmkay?_

Wanda tells him they’ll spend more time together after the wedding. Steve has resigned himself to not falling madly in love with her, but he was hoping they could at least have the sort of open friendship Hades and Persephone had. But no, not until after the wedding. “After the wedding, I’m all yours.”

He’d be angrier if it wasn’t justified, but unfortunately his new job as official of the courts allows him to see just how hard Wanda works. Playing the role of two goddesses is in no way easy, and she’s often strung even thinner than the other Olympians. Steve does his best to help, offering foot and back massages, but she just waves him away. “I pay people to do that for me. Don’t you have something better to do?”

He does. He always does. He just thought it’d be nice to offer.

At least he’s busy. A new monster terrorizes a small town and they send him down to deal with it, apparently having forgotten that they need to find a new errand boy. Steve wishes he minded more, but in all honesty, getting thrown around and bruised up all to eventually slay the beast is the best part of his month.

Sometime around the second or third month of his god-ship, Steve gets desperate. He is in a valley, doing reconnaissance for Demeter, when he stumbles upon a familiar path. The flowers have grown taller here on either side of a path, like they grew out of the ground in a line for someone special.

Steve knows this path.

Before he knows what he’s doing he’s _running,_ full sprint ahead along the path of wildflowers that all grew a little too well, and he’s running and running and then he stops. Because it’s not here anymore; where a path of stones once were— a _gate,_ if you will— a river has run over, casting the stones downstream. The path of Orpheus is officially closed for business.

It shouldn’t upset him as much as it does.

  


—————-

  


Four months in, he finds out that an unwed god or goddess isn’t allowed to wield the same amount of power that a wed one is. There is a maximum amount of power an unwed deity can possess, and if he’s done his math right, Wanda is at her max, unable to gain more power until she is wed. Steve begins to watch her more closely.

Five months in, Athena disappears into oblivion. When Wanda finds out, she can’t take her eyes off the empty throne, practically salivating at the sight.

In the meantime, she urges him to speed up the wedding. Steve is sure the two events are completely, absolutely, _unquestionably_ unrelated. Regardless, the knowledge that Wanda has no interest in becoming close to him before or after the wedding makes him like his fiancée a little less. It’s not like he has a choice in the marriage; Tony decided for them decades ago when he was going through his WWZD (What Would Zeus Do) phase harder than ever.

Still, Steve doesn’t exactly speed up the wedding planning.

It’s only the next week when Steve finds himself at another party. It’s all but mandatory for him to go to, so he does, even if he decided ahead of time to refuse all alcohol and dancing, especially with his fiancée.

Throughout the entirety of the party, Steve hears grumbling from just about every remaining Olympian. He’s busy enough to not be able to stop for gossip, but from what he can tell it’s a welcome party, probably for a minor god or goddess that’s been off the mountain for a while. He dares to hope that it’s a sign that Athena has returned, but the buzz is far too negative for that to be the case.

Steve finds out exactly what’s going on when he gets to the party and sees a woman: tall, with delicate pale pink skin, wearing a gown that looks like it’s a painting of flowers animated on her body. With every move she makes, petals seemed to glide down her dress in such an enticing way Steve finds it almost impossible to look away.

But he does. In fact, he looks up, and has to admit that he’s surprised, but relieved, that her hair is still just as dark black as it was in the underworld.

_Is it Spring already?_

Persephone is surrounded by good natured nymphs and minor deities, though Steve notes that none of the Olympians have made their entrances yet.

He strides across the room, not even trying to hide his intentions. Her eyes zero in on him instantly, and that polite, cheery smile darkens oh-so-maliciously. She stands, and more petals fall to the ground.

No one’s close enough to hear, so when Steve takes her hand (they’re ‘equals’ now, so he no longer has to kneel), he says “Maria Hill.”

She smiles. “Steve.”

“Um… may I have this dance?”

Her dress is solid, but has layers of sheer fabric that grace over the floor delicately, and Steve keeps watching to see if they will turn to smoke. They never do.

“You look… well,” he compliments, because he really should and she really does. She looks far more alive than in the underworld, which he supposes is good. For the goddess of flowers, she really should get more sunlight.

She smiles again, and Steve isn’t sure how real it is. She didn’t smile this easily in the underworld.

“Thank you. It’s only been a few days away, but… I suppose I’ll adjust.”

That was a surprise. “You miss it?”

“The underworld? Oh no, definitely not. But I miss him. I still visit in the warm months, but it’s not the same.” She glances up, catching his eyes. “You should come with me sometime. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

They don’t use his name. To Steve’s knowledge, no one is listening in, but at the mention of the word _Hades_ every head would turn. Steve considers using his personal name but surely there’s someone else in this room who knows it.

By now, the Olympians have begun arriving, and the party is really getting started.

He starts moving with a little more urgency and immediately feels Maria’s hands on his shoulders, smoothing over them soothingly. “Shh… calm. You don’t have to visit, it was just a suggestion.”

Her tone suggests she is talking to a wild animal rather than Steve, which makes him let out a small laugh. “I’d love to visit. I just… can’t.” Shrug. Too busy, you know how it is. No time, hmm-de-hmm.

Maria, however, looks furious. “Is it because of the Twelve?”

A few heads turn and Steve carefully leads them to the other side of the dance floor, never messing up a step. “No one calls them that anymore,” he warns. “Not after… you know. Now they’re just the Olympians.”

“You called?” Sam says from behind them, making Steve nearly jump out of his skin.

“Gods! Sam, what the fuck?”

Sam tsks at him good naturedly. “Man, there is a lady present, keep your potty mouth to yourself.” He turns to Maria, bowing and kissing her hand formally. “Persephone.”

“Hermes,” she says with faked enthusiasm. “How have you been?”

“Good, good. Well, I can’t complain. It’s a lot better than the underworld, at least.”

She laughs pleasantly but pointedly does not agree, and Steve thinks back to how she got into the underworld in the first place; ranting about her troubles to some sacred rocks with so much passion the ground split for her.

Sam offers to dance with her, and Persephone accepts formally, sending Steve a little wave and an apologetic smile. He watches them dance for a while, and knows when Sam starts talking about H-a-d-e-s because Maria Hill’s face contorts and she steps on his foot so hard it couldn’t have possibly been an accident, though she plays it off as such.

—————

Everyone ends up drunk enough to move the party away from the nymphs and minor gods. Steve is a big enough part of the everyday stuff that no one questions him coming too. They go to Rhodey’s home and arrange themselves on couches, lounging and talking and drinking despite the fact that everyone besides Steve is already just about piss drunk. They hold their alcohol well, but Steve knows from experience that godly composure has its limits.

Steve talks to Persephone more. He asks what has changed in the underworld since he’s been there and she gives him a strange look. “Nothing. It’s the underworld; nothing ever changes.”

He ends up writing it off as Persephone’s flair for the dramatic, because after more prodding she does spill some. “There was a rogue Titan that got loose and caused Bucky all kinds of trouble. We added a new room to our palace, and I’m trying to find a way to grow flowers that need a lot of sun in it. Peter’s the same.” She smirks when she says that.

Steve rolls his eyes. “The same as in still a polite little servant boy, or still drowning questing heros?”

Her smirk grows. “There haven’t been any heros to drown, but I’m sure if he got the chance he would be doing both. Don’t tell anyone, but sometimes I think he enjoys serving more than he enjoys drowning.”

He snorts. “Absolutely not. You should’ve seen him when he pulled me into the river, he looked like he was having the best day of his life.”

“He told us. There’s nothing river spirits like more than seducing someone only to drown them in the end.”

“Fucking river spirits.”

Persephone laughs, long and loud enough to make others glance over. “Fucking river spirits,” she agrees.

  


———————

  


Persephone asks to see his living quarters, and Steve isn’t going to deny her. He still isn’t quite sure how he ended up laying under the silky sheets with her, but it happened at some point.

They’re both in their underthings, bodies making contact at multiple points: knees, ankles, shoulders. They are curled up together innocently, but Steve knows how this game works.

He isn’t expecting it when she strains her neck trying to see his face, and asks point blank, “Do you want to have sex?”

He laughs uncomfortably. “What, your husband hasn’t been fulfilling your needs?”

She smirks. “No. He’s been too busy fucking his servant.”

Steve snorts. It’s easy, talking like this, to pretend they are just discussing an Olympian. _He cheats on her, she cheats on him. She wants to get fucked because he’s been fucking the servant. Now they’ll sleep together because they’re both gods and hot as fuck, and because they can, and they will make eye contact across the room and smirk at each other every day for the next year and remember. They’ll play it like it’s a secret but everyone will know that it happened and no one, not even their spouses, will give a single shit._

Maria Hill leans up and kisses the underside of his jaw. Steve allows it for a few moments before adjusting his position so he can kiss her on the lips. She’s probably the best kisser he’s ever met, second only to Bucky.

She shifts, climbing into his lap to roll her hips against his. The similarities between her and Bucky are blatant and impossible to ignore, but Steve finds himself not wanting to ignore them.

She breaks the kiss but not the contact, mouth hovering so close her lips brush his when she speaks. “You never answered my question.”

“Your question,” Steve repeats. His heart is beating in his ears and he keeps his eyes closed. If he focuses on the feel of the body and not the shape, he can almost picture Bucky over him.

“Do you want to have sex?”

“What type of question is that?” It’s not one Steve’s used to being asked. In all fairness he doesn’t usually ask it either; when you get into bed with someone, half naked, assumptions will be made.

He tells Maria Hill this much, and she just rolls her eyes. “For fuck’s sake. Nudity isn’t consent to sex, it’s consent to nudity. That’s it. Just because you can see my body doesn’t mean you can touch it.”

Steve immediately pulls his hands away. “Sorry.”

She snorts, smiling the same way she did in the underworld. Her amusement is more genuine than her excitement. “You can touch.”

Steve brings his hands to her back again. It’s less muscular than Bucky’s, but stronger than Wanda’s.

She kisses under his chin again. “Do you want to have sex? I need a yes or no answer, you oaf. No is valid.”

Steve hesitates. Maria’s breath tastes like wine, but it’s clear her inhibitions are hardly affected. But…

_Does_ he want to have sex?

The answer is obvious: no. He’s not in the mood, but he wasn’t in mood to party in the first place and he still _did_ . It was just a part of the job, a part of the environment. Gods fucked gods. Gods fucked whichever gods were willing. No one was diseased, and Steve didn’t know the exact details, but he _did_ know that none of the Olympian goddesses had gotten pregnant in a long time, and they were still having sex, so something had changed.

“I…” Steve stumbles over the words. “I don’t care? Like, it’s fine if you want to. I’m good with… whatever.”

Hill kisses him under the ear, like a reward for good behavior. Then she backs off, wriggling away until she’s laying on her side, head on Steve’s chest. “It’s okay,” she promised. “Let’s just cuddle?”

“Cuddling,” Steve repeats. “Right.”

Hill laughs at him. “What, have you never cuddled before?”

“I have,” Steve defends. “Just… not without doing anything first.”

She hums thoughtfully, rubbing her hand over his chest. Her skin feels human, in the human world. She looks healthy.

(She also looks sad, but she does a good enough job of hiding it that Steve is able to forget it.)

“Cuddling is one of the best parts of marriage,” she muses. “Bucky and I have separate rooms, but sometimes we sleep together just for the sake of being with another person. It’s nice, right?”

“It’s… fine.” It’s more than fine. Steve hadn’t realized how lonely he’s been the past few months.

  


—————-

  


**_Persephone_ **

  


Bucky is in the throne room, talking to Midas again.

Persephone _hates_ Midas. When he had finally died she’d pressed for him to be sent to the fields of punishment. That was back when the lands the Greeks ruled were less, the population small enough for Hades to rule on each individual personally. Bucky had, respectfully, dismissed her.

“He’s a bastard,” he’d agreed, “but he’s morally gray. He won’t feel guilty about sentencing people, and he won’t sentence people to punishment without good reason. Besides, he has the favor of some of the other gods. Making him a judge will keep him out of Elysium, but still make it seem like a worthy position. In reality, it’ll be an endless nothing, Asphodel, except _I’m_ still putting him to good use.”

Sometimes her husband surprised her. His thought processes were always drawn out and considered so thoroughly it was almost eerie. He would’ve made an excellent king of the gods; it was only the fates cruelty that he’s been bound to this realm instead.

Hill’s heels click on the marble floor with an air of authority, and Bucky looks up to flash her a smile before going back to Midas, who doesn’t address her at all. To mend that, Persephone clicks all the way to Bucky and starts speaking, cutting Midas off. “The human world has fallen into chaos without me.”

Bucky is happy to turn away from the ghost and to her. “My love. I’m not surprised.”

They both turn to Midas, waiting. “Persephone,” he says— no bowing, no title.

“It’s _Queen_ Persephone, maggot.” Hill bites back, knowing she went a bit too far by the way Bucky is trembling with suppressed laughter, but she isn’t about to go back on it. “Hades, I would like to request a personal audience with you.”

“Of course. Midas, I’m sure you’ll excuse—”

“What, _now?”_ Midas’s beady little eyes went wide, as if what he was talking about was so important it couldn’t _possibly_ wait. Worm.

“Yes,” Bucky said easily, as if Midas just hadn’t understood him right. “You can wait in the sitting room. I could have a guard escort you if you’re having trouble finding it.”

Midas grumbles the entire walk out, and Persephone considers throwing one of her shoes at him. She restrains herself from it; well, actually, Bucky restrains her, grabbing her wrist and holding it until the dead king has left.

“I missed you,” he said as soon as they were in private.

The words make Hill’s heart feel warm. “I was only gone a week,” she teases.

“It’s always so much lonelier without you.”

“Well, it’s a good thing you have Peter. Speaking of which, where is the boy?”

Bucky scoffs. “He’s at his source. Apparently, river gods do have to do work after all.”

“No. It’s been… how many centuries? That boy has never worked on his river a day in his life.”

Bucky smiles sweetly at her. “Well, times are changing.”

“Indeed they are.” It’s the perfect segway into the topic she’d come to him to talk about, but that doesn’t make it easier. Still, she persists. “Athena is gone.”

He doesn’t react. “I’m shocked. How many of the 12 are left?”

“Only 7, plus Wanda.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows at the personal name. “Wanda?”

“Hecate, Hestia, whatever. I talked to Steve about her. Their wedding approaches.”

It’s almost comical how fast his face falls. He adjusts immediately, trying to get it to go back to normal, but hiding his emotions was never one of Hades’ strong suits. “You talked to Steve?”

“Oh Darling, we did more than talk. Not all the way though— I had to stop to explain to the poor boy about consent. I have a feeling the goddesses have been using his ignorance to their advantage.”

This causes Bucky to cuss, hissing out swears in a mixture of Greek and English. “Of fucking _course_ they are.”

“Steve spends his days running wine goblets and planning his arranged wedding. He found out, recently, that Wanda wants nothing to do with him after the wedding.”

Bucky waves that away. “I already knew that.”

“What? About Wanda, how?”

“Lucky guess. And… my informants.”

It’s Persephone’s turn to curse under her breath. “Your fucking informants. You know, you wouldn’t need informants if you just followed my plan—”

“They’d throw me off Olympus before I can even get to the gardens,” Bucky argues. “You know that.”

Persephone huffs. For all his intellect, sometimes her husband could be a real idiot. “Who would throw you off the mountain?”

“The security team. Or Hephaestus himself, the upstart.”

“And who runs the security team?”

Persephone could physically see it click into place. “Steve.”

“And who’s ass did you put your—”

“Steve’s, for fuck’s sake woman. Okay, so Steve probably won’t be throwing me off the mountain anytime soon, but there’s still the problem of the Olympians.”

“It’s hardly an issue.” Hill straightens and physically takes ahold of Bucky’s shoulders, making him straighten too. “You are the _god of the underworld._ You have resources, you have blackmail, and you have more manpower than anyone else.”

Bucky appears to mentally take a step back. “You think I should raise an army?”

“I don’t think you should _fight,_ but yes. The Olympians are falling apart, they’re making big decisions that you _should be a part of,_ and they still believe you are someone that you are not. Your destiny was not to be outcast.”

————————

  


**_Heracles_ **

  


Steve almost runs into one of the diplomats in his haste.

The man he ran into grabs onto his shoulders, stabilizing him with an ease normal mortals can’t handle. “Whoa. Wherever you are rushing to, I promise they will have little use of you if you trip and break your skull open.” The man’s accent is stronger and very much not what Steve is used to. That and the fact that Steve recognizes him are both enough to put Steve on high alert.

He is the man from the day Steve came in with Cerberus. His skin is dark in a way that few Greeks’ skin is, giving Steve painful flashbacks from one particularly difficult labor he’d had to travel to Africa for. Needless to say, it’s left him a little biased.

The man appears to notice his panic, and tries to put him at ease, offering his hand to clasp in a casual gesture unrelated to any ranking systems besides, perhaps, equals. “My name is Osiris. And you?”

Steve clasps his hand, begging his heart to stop pounding so damn loud. “Um, Steve. Er, Heracles. Sorry, I, just…”

“No need to apologize. Osiris is my formal name, just as I believe your formal name is Heracles, yes? My casual name is T’challa. I am pleased to make your acquaintanceship.”

Well, that was fast. “Um… me too. Er, the same. Are you…” He’s clearly a god, but Steve has never seen or even heard of him before. Steve tries again. “Are you a minor god?”

T’challa laughs out loud. “Not quite. I am one of the leaders of _my_ culture, headed by the goddess Bast. I came here to talk to your Olympians about finding a way to integrate our duties— we hear you’ve been having a shortage in gods lately.”

Steve’s immediate reaction is rejection. The Olympians know what they’re doing, or at least that’s what he’s been told his entire life. They are wise. But… _but…_

“What’s your suggestion?”

T’challa opens his arms. “There are many religions. All of them have gods in common who do similar tasks. Why do you think the waves continue to crash against the shore, when your water god is gone? Why did the sun rise, even after your Helios was gone and before Apollo took up his role? It is because the Norse god of the sea Ægir was watching the oceans, and the Egyptian god of the sun, _our_ Ra, was insuring the sun rose and set every day. We are already working together, even though we do not speak. Now, your gods are fleeing. I simply suggest that it is time for us to start _speaking._ ”

Steve’s head pounds with the new ideas. “When is your appointment with the Olympians? Let me show you to the hall—”

T’challa holds up a hand. “I was just there. They rejected my ideas without even hearing me out.”

That… wasn’t right. T’challa seems to have more of an idea of what is going on than Steve does, which says a lot as Steve is the official of the court. There isn’t a lot that goes down without his knowledge— at least, so he’d thought.

As it turns out, Steve _thought_ he knows a lot more than he actually does.

“I… have to be somewhere,” Steve says, suddenly remembering what he’d been doing before getting distracted. “But. Could you… maybe stay in the area? Let me eat with you tonight and you can tell me more about your ideas.”

  


———————

Steve had been so wrapped up in his conversation with T’challa that he’d forgotten about Cerberus.

It takes him a few seconds to remember, then he’s off again, sprinting down the hallway. The three-headed dog had appeared seemingly out of the shadows only a few minutes before and had proceeded to bark at Steve, making him jump, and then bolted away. She ran straight into a wall and disappeared. A moment later, she was further down the hallway, emerging from a shadow like she was made of the same stuff.

Steve had chased her until running into T’challa, and by all reasonable accounts he should have lost her completely. But when he starts up again, she is only a little ways away, far enough that he has to sprint but close enough to tease.

Steve chases her throughout the building, having a few close calls where he has to hide behind a pillar or corner so a passing Olympian doesn’t see him. Finally, Cerberus finds a room that she must decide is adequate, and she squats, pissing directly in the center of the room.

Steve grabs her harness and to his surprise, it holds her. Apparently there are no shadows close enough to slip into.

Attached to the harness is a rolled up piece of parchment. Steve takes it and undos it without a pause. It’s written in the same blocky, dark letters as the note left on his bed months before.

**Prepare. Things are going down soon. Keep this note private.**

**-B**

Steve fully intends to keep the note private, but he doesn’t get the chance to. As soon as he’s read the letter, one of Cerberus’ heads lashes out and snatches up the piece of paper, chewing and swallowing it.

—————-

Steve manages to find a paper and stylus without losing his grip on the dog, thankfully. He scribbles out a note in response— **_Promises, promises_ **— and attach it to the harness in the same manner as the previous letter. When he lets Cerberus go, she bounds straight into a shadow and disappears.

A few minutes later, Steve’s in his room when she reappears.

**M.H. says you don’t want to visit. Don’t tell me I scared you? -B**

He grins, responds, and waits.

They end up passing back messages for nearly an hour, at which point Steve tells Bucky that he has to go to his appointment. He does not tell Bucky that his appointment is to be fitted for his wedding outfit, but then, he somehow manages not to mention the wedding at all. It’s completely accidental, of course. Steve has no secondary motivation for keeping it a secret.

They don’t _just_ talk about personal things, however. Steve does manage to ask for more details about whatever ‘ **Things are going down soon** ’ means, but Bucky doesn’t give him a straight forward answer.

**Here’s what you need to know: you need to get the Olympians more reliant on you. Don’t let them think you’re in any way replaceable. Be good. When it happens, I’ll let you know what your part is. -B**

After that message, Steve has the horrible, humiliating urge to send back a super lovey dovey message. He does not, though, because he has logic and dignity. He is a god. He has duties.

Steve really, really misses Bucky. It’s illogical to miss something that you never had in the first place, but Steve isn’t currently running on logic.

  


—————

  


The meeting with T’challa was more informing than Steve had expected. He knew that there were other cultures who believed in different gods, but he hadn’t realized the extent to which they existed. T’challa explained that on their side of the world, there were three main groups of gods: the Norse, the Egyptian, and the Greek. There were many more on other parts of the world, but in their realm of existence they were the three main groups.

Steve is just heading back to his quarters when Natasha appears in a rapid puff of smoke directly in front of him, and he almost plows down the second god in one day. She crosses her arms in front of her chest, demanding “Where were you?”

Steve lifts his chin. The goddess is shorter than him, but infinitely more powerful. The fact that he no longer has to kneel is a formality that he still isn’t quite used to; decades of hard-boiled respect are hard to get past. “Lady Artemis,” he addresses, trying to keep his composure. “I was just meeting with Osiris, the king of—”

“I know who he is,” Natasha snaps. “We already rejected his plans; why were you meeting with him?”

Steve tries sidestepping her, but she blocks him easily. “His plans are good,” he admits, “I think they have real promise. We don’t have to do it exactly his way; there’s always room for debate, especially when Tony is involved—”

His second attempt to sidestep fails as well. The goddess does not look amused. “That’s not your decision, _official of the court_ ,” she challenges. “Or do you think that you’re wiser than the Olympians?”

Steve does his best to backtrack the conversation. He’s supposed to be gaining their favor; even if Bucky hadn’t told him to, it would have been his duty. Gain their favor, climb the ladder. “I don’t think that, and I wasn’t trying to make any deals with him. He simply asked if I wanted to hear, and I did. No one told me I couldn’t.”

“Oh, no one told you not to privately interview foreign, hostile diplomats? Gee, I wonder why, it’s almost like it’s common—”

“He’s not _hostile_ , just because he wants to divide power more fairly doesn’t mean—”

“Oh, divide power more fairly?” She’s angry enough that Steve is glad he has a friend in the underworld; it feels like he might need one. “Do you have a _problem_ with the way me and my council are ruling?”

_Lady, I have a problem and a half with it._ “No, your majest—”

“Go to your room,” she orders, “And think about what you’ve done.”

Steve blinks. “Did you just… did you just put me in a time out?”

Natasha pushes past him, storming away.

“Stop, I’m serious! Did you just order me to my room? You can’t do that, I’m not a kid—”

As easy as that, he is shoved against the wall, an icy hand around his throat. Artemis, like all the other Olympians, is impossibly strong. “I _am your god_ . Now go to your room, _intern._ And next time, remember your place.”

  


———————

  


Steve does not go to his room.

Once Natasha releases him, he goes through the Throne Hall and out the back door and just like that he is running, running down the side of the mountain. No god can stop him now; he is _Heracles,_ and he’s got the weight of emotions and the pull of momentum on his side.

The mountain passes in a blur, _Olympus_ passes in a blur. Soon he is in the forest, breaking through trees and barreling his way through in spite of the dark night. His godly eyes don’t need to adjust, he can see everything, every branch and leaf and creature and no one _told him_ there would be this much sensory data, and an owl cries out overhead as if it were being strangled, and Steve can _feel_ the woods around him. He knows every person and animal and creature that has walked this path, and that is why he is _running._

He gets to the river and throws himself in. It is moving faster than it was last time, and when nothing about his surroundings changes he swims deeper, deeper than the river should reasonably be. He grabs onto thick roots at the bottom and pulls himself down, holding himself there against the weight of the water pressing all around him. There is much less sensory data when underwater, but it’s _still there._

Thin, bony hands grab him and rip him away with impressive strength. He gasps when he breathes in the crisp night air, and goes limp as he is dragged to shore.

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Peter asks, voice quiet and only a little rough. Steve just shakes his head. _No. No._

They are in the underworld, and Steve doesn’t even need to open his eyes to know it. The evidence is all around him. When he finally does open his eyes, Peter is peering over him, not masking his concern. His hair is light brown, his eyelashes clumped and glittery with dew.

“You pushed me in,” Steve mutters. “You little bastard.”

“Hey, you got in all on your own this time. Come on, get up. I’ll take you to my master; he’ll help you.”

Steve groans, letting his head lull to the side. “I’m not hurt. ‘M fine.”

“Yeah, that’s not what I was talking about.”

Peter asks Steve to stand, and when Steve can’t do it Peter _makes_ him stand. He lets Steve lean on him as they walk. On his first trip in the underworld, the walk from the river to the palace took some time; this trip, the palace is in sight in less than a minute.

The gates open automatically for Peter, and the spirits must’ve summoned their master because Bucky is zapping into reality there in an instance. “Steve? Are you—”

He can’t finish his sentence because by then he’s being crushed with about 500 pounds of godly super-soldier. “Bucky,” Steve gasps out. “ _Bucky.”_

“Gods, Steve. You’re dripping wet. Did Peter—”

“He jumped in,” Peter defends immediately. “I’m sorry for bringing him without your permission sir—”

“It’s fine,” Bucky waves him away. “You are dismissed.”

“Is there anything—”

“I’ll let you know,” Bucky promises. “Leave us.”

Peter disappears in a puff of smoke at the snap of Hades’ fingers. Steve tries to feel guilty, but there’s simply no room left.

He’s crying, he realizes. Just tears, without the shakes and sobs, but tears nonetheless.

“It’s going to be okay,” Bucky promises, soothing. He snaps his fingers again and they’re in the bedroom, still holding tightly to each other. He has never used his powers this much in front of Steve, and it freaks him out.

“They hate me,” Steve whimpers. “They… and I… _Buck_. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”

Steve was supposed to be an Olympian. They were supposed to be a family. The Olympians were supposed to be wise. Steve was supposed to trust them, and that was the biggest hurt of all. He was supposed to trust them, but betrayal after betrayal had left him empty and unable to.

“It wasn’t,” Bucky agrees, a whisper against Steve’s ear. He has one hand clutching the back of Steve’s head tightly, the other wrapped around Steve’s back like he isn’t going to let him go. It’s ridiculously soothing.

_So Death’s grip truly is firm._

It takes some time to soothe him, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind. Either way, once Steve has pulled himself back together the shame feels very real. He sits on the bed, kneeling with his legs open, and looks down. “I am sorry, Lord Hades. This wasn’t appropriate of me.”

Bucky sighs in annoyance. “For fuck’s sake, you sound like Peter. Heyp Stevie, look at me.”

Steve would, even if it weren’t for the metal hand pressed under his chin, holding it up. “You are _not_ my servant,” Bucky says firmly. “Repeat it.”

“I am not your servant.”

“You may not be my equal in power— _yet_ — but you are my equal in living. This is not a strong god and a weak god talking, this is two _immortals_ just trying to exist for all its worth. Do you understand?”

No, no, absolutely not. There is not allowed to be a gradient, there is only allowed to be a line in the sand. There is a hierarchy, a natural hierarchy, and Steve serves this hierarchy from the bottom. Pyramids need foundations, and Steve is one of the world’s many people who serve as foundations for those above him. He… he _supports_ , his life is to _serve_ —

“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky says, sounding sad. Disappointed, maybe. “What have they been teaching you?”

Bucky strips off his shirt, his pants, so he is just wearing his normal, not-particularly-godly boxers. Steve is still in a daze, but he reaches for his shirt anyways, because this must mean that Bucky wants to fuck him.

Bucky pushes his hands away. “No. Those stay. I’m…” He huffs. “It’s supposed to be… a metaphor, okay? We are equals, alright? This is supposed to show it, I… fuck, this isn’t working. How about now?” He slips to the ground, on his knees. Steve blinks, trying to understand if what he’s seeing is real or not. “Look at this, look at me. On my knees in front of you. Would I do this if I was better than you?”

Steve frowns. What the fuck? The ground is dirty, and Bucky is… Bucky is…

Well, Bucky is _perfect._ Perfect things don’t belong on the ground.

“Hey, I’m talking to you. Would I do this if I were better than you?”

“...No,” Steve manages, frowning.

“Good, that’s good. So what does that mean, huh? Does it mean you’re better than me?”

“No, of course not—”

“Then what does it mean Stevie, hmm? What does it mean?” His voice is impossibly soft, impossibly gentle. Steve likes this— someone being gentle with him.

Steve’s frown deepens. “It means… we’re equals?”

“Good, that’s so good baby.” Bucky stands and brushes off his knees. “I probably shoulda kept the pants on for that.”

“No, you’re… you’re perfect.”

Bucky smiles, and his smile too, is gentle. “Thanks, Stevie.”

Steve opens his arms and Bucky’s smile widens. He crawls forwards onto the bed, pulling himself into Steve’s lap to get situated. His knees are on either side of Steve’s waist, and he’s close enough that Steve can see the light flush of pink on his cheeks.

Steve buries his head against Bucky’s bare chest, letting out a wet sigh. Bucky is rubbing his back, and Steve is pretty sure Hill did that too, and that he’d done it to Wanda. Bucky is the lord of the underworld, yet he has so many mannerisms that show his compassion, so many that at some point they start rubbing off on everyone around him.

“Tell me what happened?” Bucky asks quietly.

Steve can say no. He is allowed to say no; he is always allowed to say no with Bucky. No. _No_. The word is something he’s thought often, but only now does it’s presence bring relief; probably because Steve knows that for once, it has meaning.

“Things aren’t what I thought they’d be,” Steve starts, and tells Bucky everything that had been going through his mind as he tore his way down the mountain. The entire time Bucky just listens, eventually stopping the back rub to massage the back of Steve’s head instead.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. “You don’t deserve that.”

“I… I trusted them,” Steve says meekly. It’s not an agreement, but it’s not too far off anymore. A year before, Steve would never have even _hinted_ at the Olympians being unjust; now he can’t stop thinking about it.

“You did,” Bucky agrees. “I don’t… I don’t like it down here. But sometimes I think it’s good. The people… they’re not toxic like they are on the mountain. It’s lonely, but at least the few people I do have are trustworthy.”

_The few people he does have_. It takes Steve a moment to realize what he means; Maria and Peter. That’s it.

It’s the most unfair thing Steve has heard this millennia. “You deserve so much more,” Steve whispers into his chest, eyes closed. “If anyone deserves more, it’s you.”

“My kingdom is fine—”

“You’re kingdom is _lonely_ ,” Steve corrects, pulling back to look at him. “And you’re kingdom is _sad._ You deserve more.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes. Finally, Bucky pulls back and crawls off of Steve. “Alright, enough moping. It isn’t about what we deserve, it’s about making the most of what we have. And right now, I have you in my bed, and I’m not about to waste that thinking about the things I _don’t_ have.”

Steve lays back and sighs blissfully, eyes half closed. “Gods. You really are perfect.”

“Shut up,” Bucky teases. He doesn’t make eye contact.

“You are,” Steve repeats, if only to see that blush again. “Fucking amazing and caring and kind and—”

Bucky crawls on top of him and plants a big, sloppy kiss on his lips, effectively shutting him up. Steve doesn’t mind in the slightest, kissing back sloppily, languidly, moaning into Bucky’s mouth.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Bucky takes his time finished the kiss before pulling away, licking a strip up Steve’s nose playfully. It makes Steve shiver in a good way.

Bucky sits up and turns to his wife in the doorway. “Not at all, come on in.”

Hill is smiling. It’s the smile she only uses on Bucky: amusement, but more than anything, a deep seated fondness. “You’re not doing anything, is that right. Is that why your pants are on the floor?”

Bucky grins. “I swear we were being completely innocent and virtuous. Besides, we aren’t going to do anything anyways: Stevie’s emotionally compromised.”

“I see.”

Steve props himself up on his elbows. He isn’t sure if he should say it or not, but even if he messes up he doesn’t think they will reprimand him. “Would you, erm, like to join us?”

“For cuddling? Oh, do I have to?” Even as she says it Hill steps out of her shoes and removes her dress, folding it methodically.

Bucky climbs up the bed, tugging on Steve’s shirt. “Your turn.”

Soon, the three of them are under the silken sheets, a tangle of limbs. Steve’s in the middle, but Bucky is half sitting on him with his legs draped over Steve’s so they’re all touching.

Hill’s mouth finds its way to Steve’s neck, kissing up it and underneath his chin. Bucky watches, smiling with his lips parted. “What’s with you and his neck? You don’t kiss _me_ like that.”

“His neck is nice,” she defends, not stopping. “And his jawline’s more defined than yours. It feels nice.”

“I think this is Hill’s way of telling us that she’s a vampire.”

“An _Empousa_ ,” Bucky agrees. “She certainly has the complexion for it.”

In the underworld, Maria’s skin is, once more, pale to the point of reflectivity. She snarls and bites him, but her non-vampire teeth only leave a slight bruise.

They don’t just cuddle. They also kiss, and touch, and Hill leaves more wet marks on the side of Steve’s neck, claiming him in the same way Bucky’s tongue on Steve’s nose did. Steve may be betrothed to Wanda, and he may even marry her, but she will never own him as much as these two people own him right now.

Eventually, Hill shifts in between the two men, sitting in a way that puts solid, grounding pressure on Steve’s legs. Steve massages her back while Bucky talks and nuzzles her like a cat. The god of the underworld has a half drunk haze over his eyes and a stupid smile on his face, and he nuzzles his wife and their lover like a housecat. It’s almost too much.

But really, it is never too much.

Steve wakes the same as he fell asleep; in a tangle of limbs, warm, and feeling more at home than he had in the past 68 years.

“I have to go,” Hill whispers to the still half-asleep men. “Steve, you’ll need to leave soon too. Don’t forget your duties.”

“I could never forget my duties,” Steve grumbles against Bucky’s arm.

It’s hard to process everything that happened the night before, but luckily enough for Steve, Bucky doesn’t seem surprised. Steve doesn’t know how serious Bucky was about being equals, but as soon as Peter brings the water jug Bucky is on his knees, washing Steve’s feet. Peter stares.

“Is this a sex thing?”

Bucky flicks some of the foot-water at him in response. The nymph makes a squeak of protest, but is smiling. Steve has seen him in a wide array of attitudes, but this version seems the most lighthearted. Peter serves Hades, but even if he didn’t, Steve imagines he’d still want to spend time with him.

It’s early in the morning, but Steve’s work starts early. Bucky accompanies him during breakfast and the walk to the river (which is even shorter this time), and gives him one final kiss before Peter drags him into the water. Steve’s body is torn apart by the current, and he resurfaces in the shallows of the Acheron. It’s barely even dawn. 

No one notices that his bed remains unslept in.

The day is longer and more odious than normal. There are meetings in the morning, and then the gods disperse to tend to their respective realms. Steve is brought along with Artemis to meet some of her Hunters, which Steve learns is really just an opportunity for him to give them free shield-wielding lessons and then give them a new sparring partner. One on one he is able to outmatch them with minimal effort, but when they are in a group (as they usually fight), they manage to beat him.

Steve works with the servants and wind spirits in the evening. He thinks he sees Cerberus out of the corner of the eye, but he doesn’t have time to chase the dog and after that, he doesn’t see her again.

That night, there is a banquet. Attending it is astronomically worse than attending the parties, because at the parties Steve is a guest, while he spends the entire banquet helping the wait staff and serving drinks. The table has 14 seats at it, which makes Steve uncomfortable enough— who are the extra two seats for?— but it is made astronomically worse by the fact that over half of the seats are empty. Sam doesn’t appear for the first half hour, and Steve can tell that the remaining gods are trying not to stare at his seat. He _does_ appear though; apologizing profusely and scooting his chair into the table so quickly it screeched against the floor.

The banquet ends painfully late, and Steve has to stay in the area and supervise the cleanup. He falls asleep as soon as his head hits the mattress.

———————-

  


The following day, Steve is sent to Macedonia to inspect the crops. Demeter claims that they are being destroyed by _Karpoi_ , nasty little grain spirits, but when Steve talks to the locals they all claim ignorance. Steve spends most of the day going through each field, one by one, but he never sees any evidence of trouble.

When he gets back to Olympus he finds out that he’d just missed seeing Thor, the leader of the Norse gods. How convenient, he thinks, that he was gone _that specific day_ when the entire rest of the month he’d been practically chained to the palace.

There is a message on his bed, and when he sees it Steve runs to it, looking forward to the blocky handwriting and unnecessarily cryptic message. He is thoroughly disappointed, then, when the note is written in the frilly cursive of his fiancée.

_Heracles—_

_As it is officially one month until we are to be wed, I thought it appropriate I write up your vows so you may start memorizing them. I appreciate all of the hard work you’ve put into planning our wedding, and in return I have taken the liberty of writing both of our vows. You can hear mine at the ceremony._

_Your vows, to memorize:_

_In the presence of Ouranos and Gaea, and these our friends, I take thee to be my wife, promising with divine assistance to be unto thee a supportive and faithful husband so long as I shall live. In addition, I swear upon all the rivers of the underworld to be loving and devoted to you above all else. I will serve and obey you in whatever ways you ask, and in these vows I willingly give up my ability to consent, trusting you to make wise decisions on my behalf. I swear to be faithful in not only my mind and heart, but also in my body; I promise to be with no others in any sexual or romantic ways, but to be solely dependent on you, for everything I may need._

_Make sure to practice your vows; I don’t want you messing this up._

_With sincerest regard,_

_Hestia_


	2. Chapter 2

**_Heracles_ **

The river is glowing, not from the water, but rather, from the moonlight reflected upon it. The air is humid and comfortable; the stars are out, and without much effort Steve can make out Orion and Cygnus standing sentry, their lives immortalized in the stars. 

Steve looks back down at the glowing water. He doesn’t touch it, just watches. 

He wants to go back. He doesn’t. He has a  _ duty.  _ He has a purpose. He has obligations. He’s made commitments that he is not allowed to break. One is not given the gift of life without having to make concessions in return, and Steve has been given the gift of life ten times over. Immortality, he supposes, has terms and conditions. When he drank the serum he was unconsciously consenting to his fate. 

The slow-moving river water ripples, and under the surface Steve sees a figure. It swims slowly towards him, and he watches the light brown curls grow nearer until the boy finally surfaces. Steve can only see part of him, but it’s clear that Peter is bare-chested. His skin is dewy and eyelashes clumped with water droplets, and the water glows a little brighter where he is. 

Peter does not come out of the water. Instead he swims to the shore and rests his head on his elbows, looking up at Steve through his dark lashes. 

Steve doesn’t move. He has no intention of touching the water, but if the boy pulls him in, he won’t fight against it. Steve has spent the past 68 years fighting; maybe it’s time he tried being pliant for a change. 

“Master sent you a note,” Peter says, after a few minutes of silence. “You never opened it.” 

A shrug. “I was busy.” 

Peter laughs. “You think that matters? He’s Hades. If he sends you a letter, you fucking open it.” 

“I’m not bound to Hades,” Steve bites back. It has less menace than he’d intended. “You may have to serve and obey him, but I don’t. Besides, I’m immortal now. He can’t touch me.” 

Peter’s frowning when Steve looks at him again. “I’m biased,” he admits. “But I still think you should’ve taken the letter.” 

“I don’t give a shit about the letter.” 

“Well maybe you should,” Peter snaps. “Don’t get lazy, not with this.”

“I’m not—” 

“He’s been good to you, he deserves at least basic respect—” 

“I’m getting married in a month!” Steve yells. “Listen, Peter, I would if I could, but in four weeks time I’ll be swearing my life away and there will be  _ no  _ room for Hades in that arrangement.” 

Peter scowls so intensely that Steve can feel goosebumps rising on his skin. The river water churns with renewed aggression. “You don’t know what a good thing you have.” 

“Well, obviously you think it’s a good thing, because you’re  _ stuck  _ with him! You have no freedom, you have no choice, he tells you he cares but he  _ doesn’t _ , he’s just using you, because you have a warm mouth and you’ll do whatever he wants—”

Steve doesn’t finish his sentence because before he can Peter is leaping out of the water, tackling and clawing Steve  _ viciously _ . Steve has fought and pissed off many beasts, but none of them have ever been as quite as furious as Peter is right now. 

The boy’s nails are sharper and more pointed than human nails, and with one brutal pass he slices Steve's face open with four swift lines. They start healing instantly, but the pain is enough of a shock to make Steve react automatically, grabbing Peter and preparing to strike. The boy isn’t even fazed. He uses Steve’s grip as leverage to yank himself upwards onto Steve’s shoulders, squeezing his neck between his thighs and then throwing his entire weight backwards, flipping Steve over him and into the water. The cold sends ripples of panic up his spine. It is in one of the deep parts and Steve thrashes and flails, knowing that you never,  _ never  _ should challenge a creature in its domain. He has only seconds before those pale hands wrap around his neck and pull him deeper. 

Steve splashes his way to the surface and then the shore, hurling himself out of the water and rolling. He scrambles to his feet, shield finally drawn, but the boy is gone.

Steve sheathes the shield and reaches up to touch the slashes on his face. 

  
  


———————-

  
  


Steve tosses and turns for the entire night. His silken sheets are no longer a luxury but a prison, and whenever he kicks them off he soon grows too cold and has to pull them back on. 

Eventually Steve resolves to do something about it, and he lifts his hands. He has never used magic before, and the real gods tend to avoid it when possible. Steve thinks it’s because of what Bucky told him, about how the more gods take advantage of immortality and their abilities, the less human they become. 

Steve wonders if that’s what happened to Zeus. 

Either way, he has more important things to deal with. His face has already healed in full, to the point where there’s not even a scar to remind him of the encounter. 

Steve wonders if, after this encounter, he’ll ever see Bucky again. He is sure that Peter will tell him what Steve said about the wedding and not wanting to read the letter. Steve isn’t sure if Bucky will be repulsed enough to completely avoid him, but it’s not like Steve’s been seeing him that often anyways. He’ll just have to avoid falling into that one specific river for the foreseeable future. 

Still, Steve finds no rest. He rereads the letter four times  _ (I will serve and obey you in whatever ways you ask, and in these vows I willingly give up my ability to consent),  _ and feels no better for it. He can’t find the silver lining. 

When he eventually gets out of bed to start his day, the mirror doesn’t betray how he feels. He has no eyebags, and his skin is no different in hue. There is no evidence of his pain, and Steve wonders if this is what being a god is really like. 

  
  


——————

**_Acheron_ **

  
  


Peter finds Hades in the throne room. He’s standing and speaking to a fury, and Peter makes his way to one of the side tables, polishing a vase on it patiently. 

Peter already knows that his expression will betray everything; Hades can read him like a book. Peter is away from his source so his hair is darker and skin is less pigmented, but he still knows there’s a reddish-gray blush across his cheeks, like a metal automaton growing rust. 

Peter glances up and makes eye contact with the fury as it’s leaving. It’s Allecto, with his dark gray writhed up skin and eyepatch. Peter has never once seen him not looking absolutely miserable. 

His personal name is Nicholas, but Peter had learned that by complete accident. He wouldn’t call him by that name even if he did speak to him. 

The fury raises his huge bat-like wings and with one great flap, soars into the sky. The throne room has no ceiling for that exact purpose. 

Peter tries to refocus his attention on the vase he’s pretending to polish, as if Hades wouldn’t notice him if he iswas subtle enough. It doesn’t work. 

“Peter.” 

_ He doesn’t know _ , Peter reminds himself. He could try to keep his expression plain, not bring it up, and his master would never have to know—

“The fuck did you do?” 

Peter sighs. He lingers by the table for as long as he can, but he makes the mistake of looking up and catching a glimpse of the god. He immediately regrets it. 

Hades is standing with his arms crossed, head tilted slightly as he takes in every single thing about Peter with just his eyes, analyzing him like something to solve. He’s leaning on one leg, the other slightly outstretched and posed to start tapping impatiently. 

Peter doesn’t let himself linger after that, but he still walks slower than normal over to the god. He can’t make himself look away from the ground.

“What’d you do?” Hades repeats, a little gentler this time.  _ We’ll figure it out _ , his tone promises, but that’s exactly the problem. Peter doesn’t want them to figure out; in fact, he never wants Hades to find out, ever, much less think about it and process it and find a suitable punishment. He is Hades, the god of the underworld, and Peter really doesn’t want one of his punishments. 

Still, it’s no use delaying it further. That doesn’t mean he can look up, however. “I saw Steve today. He was angry about his wedding, and when I asked him about the letter he said he was too busy to read it. I… I got angry at him, and he got angry at me, and… I attacked him.” Even as he said it, Peter cringed inwards. “I scratched his face. He’s fine; he’s a god now. But… I attacked him. I’m sorry, master.” 

A hand wraps underneath his chin and forces him to look up. Hades is  _ right there _ , so close it physically hurts. Peter’s entire body aches. He hates this. 

“Is there anything else I should know?” Hades asks. 

Peter shakes his head, then reconsiders. “Well. Um, the thing he was upset about, his wedding. It’s happening in a month. He’s… miserable.” 

Hades nods thoughtfully. “I suppose he’ll be pretty busy in the next month.”

“He will. She wants a huge wedding, something about oneing-up someone. And the Olympians are working him even harder than normal trying to keep him busy.” 

Hades knows there is something Peter is still not telling him, but he won’t get it out of him. Peter refuses to be the one to tell the god that his newest love never intends to see him again. 

Hades squeezes the points underneath Peter’s jaw, just enough to scare him. He is scared, but he also trusts, and when Hades sees that that won’t be enough to make Peter talk, he releases his hold and doesn’t make him share. As soon as he’s free, Peter’s eyes are firmly trained on the ground once more. 

“You will continue your quest,” Hades says, tone thoughtful. “Write down any notable information, and if anything important happens, I expect you to notify me. But until further notice, you have been demoted. You are to be like a wind spirit: seen but not heard, and if you can help it, not  _ seen  _ either. Do you understand?” 

Peter nods. He hates this, oh gods, he hates this, and he forces himself to keep his composure intact. He’s humiliated. 

“Your punishment has not started yet. Do you have any questions?” 

“No, master.” 

He wants to ask how long it will last. They have all the time in the world; it could go on for years if Hades wants it to. But Peter will not ask, because it will change nothing, and he knows the answer already.  _ As long as I think it takes,  _ Hades’ voice whispers in his mind. 

He can feel Hades’ eyes on him, thinking. Finally, he sighs. “Your punishment starts now. Get out of my sight.” 

Peter doesn’t have to be told twice. He turns, and flees. 

  
  


————————

**_Hades_ **

Persephone is gone for the warm season. Steve was never going to stay to begin with. And now, Peter is on punishment. 

Bucky is reminded, once more, just how much he hates the underworld.

  
  


————————-

**_Heracles_ **

When the news comes out that the Minotaur has been reborn, Steve doesn’t even wait to be volunteered; he nominates himself. The Olympians have been coming up with more and more creative ways to pass his time, and before long Steve thinks they’ll be having him scrubbing floors like a common servant.

Killing the Minotaur is too easy. Once he has it trapped, the edge of his shield cuts through it like it’s made of lard. The monster dies, and Steve no longer has anything to do.

———————-

**_Acheron_ **

**** Peter continues his quest. The glamour conceals him. 

  
  


———————-

**_Persephone_ **

T’challa is wise. Maybe not as wise as he pretends to be, but wise nonetheless. Thor, too. 

  
  


———————-

**_Hades_ **

**** The underworld is empty. It’s full of souls, but mostly, it’s empty. 

  
  


———————-

**_Steve_ **

Three weeks left. 

  
  


———————-

**_Peter_ **

**** Peter writes it in his notebook:  _ three weeks left.  _

  
  


———————-

**_Hades_ **

**** Two weeks, six days left. 

  
  


———————-

**_Persephone_ **

**** Persephone is cornered by her mother one night, which is horrible because her mother is not supposed to know where she is. 

“A new flower was created when you were gone,” Pepper says, standing in the corner of Maria Hill’s home like she belongs there, busying her hands with a bouquet of too-bright flowers on the table. “It’s called the ‘Narcissus’, but the locals have already started calling it a new name: the daffodil. Do you want to know how this flower was created?” 

“Mother,” Hill says, looking around the room for what Demeter stole. It’s always something. “Why are you here?”

The flowers are already perfectly arranged, Pepper needn’t continue touching them. “There was a boy, an archer named Narcissus. He fell in love with the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, on the edge of a lakebed. He stayed there, day and night, until eventually, he died.” 

“Mother, not again.” Demeter has been telling her real-life parables ever since the incident with the pomegranate seeds. 

Pepper ignores her. “He died for his love. One could say, even, that love kills.” 

“Why are you here?” Hill tries again, infuriated with the desperation in her voice. “Mother, why are you here, what do you  _ want?”  _

__ “One could even say,” Demeter continues easily, “That devotion kills. He was certainly devoted, was he not? And now he’s dead.” 

“Mother, mother—  _ mama—”  _

Demeter looks up abruptly, a huge smile on her face that doesn’t reach her eyes. She has wrinkles. She has  _ wrinkles.  _ “Now, listen,  _ daughter.  _ Listen to me: love kills. Repeat it.” 

Hill isn’t going to, but then Demeter wraps a bony hand around the bouquet of flowers and squeezes, the tendons of her hand rippling against her skin. The bouquet dies. 

“Love… kills,” Persephone repeats dutifully. She is a good daughter; she is a good daughter. She is a good daughter. 

Her cheeks are wet. 

“Love kills,” Demeter agrees. “It killed Narcissus, and it will kill you, my girl, in the exact same way. The  _ exact.  _ Same. Way.” 

Pepper moves slightly over to her, the bottom of her dress dusting the floor in smooth swoops. She was  _ never _ supposed to be here. 

Demeter puts her hand under Hill’s chin, forcing her to look up. Hill has always hated when Bucky did this to Peter, and the one time he did it to her she almost bit him.

She does not bite now. 

She looks at her mother’s wrinkled, sun-spot ridden face, through tear-filled eyes. Her mother is still smiling. It doesn’t reach her eyes; it  _ never  _ reaches her eyes. 

“Repeat it.” When did her mother get so old? “Repeat it. Love killed Narcissus, and it will kill you in the exact same way.” 

“L-love… killed Narcissus. And it will kill me.”

“In the exact same way.” 

“In the… exact same way.” 

Her mother looks so proud. “Now. Do you want to know how Narcissus died?”

_ No.  _ “Yes, Mother.”

“Do you want to know who Narcissus fell in love with?” 

“Yes, Mama.” 

There were laugh lines on her mother’s face. Her mother had never laughed a day in her life. “He fell in love with his own reflection. He fell. In love. With  _ himself.”  _

_ You will die in the exact same way.  _

__ I  _ will die, in the exact same way. _

———————-

**_Heracles_ **

  
  


**** It is two weeks, three days, and approximately five hours until his wedding. 

Steve knows because he planned the entire thing. He also knows how long the wedding will last (the entire day and into the night; the next day, when Steve knows they will lock themselves in their chambers; the day after, when Steve moves into Wanda’s big, empty home; the day after that, when the human celebrations will begin). It will be a miserable week, but then he realizes, it’s not just that week. 

_ I take thee to be my wife. Promising with divine assistance. To be unto thee a supportive and faithful husband. So long as I shall live. _

_ So long as I shall live.  _

_ So long as I shall live.  _

Not ‘so long as we both shall live’. No: so long as  _ I  _ shall live. 

His entire  _ life.  _

Steve had read and reread the vows like his own death warrant, eventually committing them to memory, just as She had asked. She asked, so She shall receive. Anything She wants, it’s Hers to take. 

It isn’t Steve’s to give, but it’s Hers to take. 

There is talk— because they are on Olympus, there is always talk— of locking Steve in his room for the week leading up to the wedding. Something something virginity. Like forcing him to stay isolated and therefore chaste could make up for 68 years of questionable decisions. 

It’s not like it would be a big deal anyways; Steve has been chaste for much longer than a week. The last person to take that particular pleasure from him was Wanda, the night she sort-of-not-really-proposed. She hasn’t touched him since, which is fine with him. Before that, it was Bucky. 

Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. If Steve gives his wife everything, so that he has nothing else, then at least he will still have Bucky— in memories only, due to that pesky  _ solely dependent on you  _ clause that Steve can’t seem to get out of. 

Chastity indeed; after they wed, Wanda will be able to possess the powers of another god or goddess. If she gets her way, it will be Athena. Then Wanda really will have no time for him. 

The River Styx will bind him to the contract. Wanda won’t need to monitor his actions, make sure he doesn’t find someone else to love; his own words will trap him. 

———————

  
  


Two weeks until his wedding, Steve runs into Peter. Or rather, Peter runs into him this time, which is a nice change. 

They really need to do something about all the sharp corners in this building. 

But still,  _ Peter _ . His skin is normal human-colored, and his hair is golden blond, but it’s still undeniably Peter, and Steve knows based on the comedic widening of the boy’s eyes that he wasn’t supposed to see him.

“Peter?” 

Peter’s eyes (still huge) dart around, looking for a quick exit, but he’s not nearly as present as he was by the river. Surprise crippled him more than anger ever could. 

Steve places his hands firmly on Peter’s shoulders, holding him in place. “Peter, what are you doing here?” 

“I’m…. not,” Peter insists. “I’m… over there.” He points behind Steve. 

“What? Peter—” Steve glances where the boy’sd pointed and Peter uses the distraction to wrench himself away from his grip, turning and spiriting down the hallway. “Hey!” 

He runs after him, getting annoying flashbacks of chasing Cerberus down these same halls. They have the same spirit to them, both wriggly little creatures of the dark who, upon exposure to light, immediately bolt. Luckily for Steve, however, naiads (or whatever the fuck Peter is) are not designed for running. 

Steve leaps forwards, wrapping his arms around the boy and tackling him. They go rolling, and Steve instinctively protects the boy’s head with his arms even as he feels his nails dig into his skin. The force of them hitting the ground is enough to force Steve to go toppling over him, and Peter kicks out against the wall sending them in another direction. Their momentum ran out, and Steve used his super-strength to push them into another roll, landing on top of Peter and pinning him to the ground. 

“Assault, assault—!” Peter yelled until Steve covered his mouth with his hand. 

“Peter, what in Tartarus—” 

Peter mumbled loudly against his hand, so Steve removed it. As soon as he did—

“Assault, assault, I’m being attacked—!” 

“You little fucker,” Steve grumbles, covering his mouth again. “The gods aren’t here, it’s just me and the wind spirits.” 

“And the servants,” Peter gasps out after shoving his hand away. “Hence, why  _ I’m  _ here.”

“But you’re not a servant to the Olympians, you’re a servant to—”

It’s was Peter’s turn to cover Steve’s mouth with his hand. “Don’t say it here!”

Steve shoves Peter’s hands away, pinning them above his head with one hand while he used his other hand to support himself, trying not to crush the boy under his weight. “Peter, what the  _ fuck _ —” 

“ _ He  _ told me to be here. I’m keeping an eye on things; don’t screw this over for me.” 

Steve rubs his hand over his face. “Peter—”

“Hey, it’s not your decision, alright? But, now that I’m here, you know your fiancée is really creepy, right? She’s trying to marry you so she can get the powers of another god—”

“I know that!” 

“She’s using you! Why do you still want to marry her?”

“She’s, she’s… she’s not using me, it’s just a coincidence. And it's none of your business.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Steve, my life has been so fucking boring the last two weeks, this is top notch gossip and there's no way I'm staying out of it. Besides, she's a  _ bitch _ . I feel like it's important for me to tell you, the lover of my master, that you're about to marry a grade B bitch. She's not Hera level, but she’s not far off--” 

“The lover of your master?” Steve breathes out. Did Bucky say-- did he imply-- did-- is--

Peter rolls his eyes. “It's a good thing you're pretty.” 

“Peter, this isn’t a joke! What-- when--”

Peter seizes so violently Steve thinks that he's been electrocuted, and he immediately looks around for Zeus. It's happened before, it could happen again, which would mean Zeus is back, Zeus is back and maybe he could fix this--

But when he looks around, the hall is as empty as it was before. Peter's eyes roll back in his head, and the illusion flickers, exposing black hair and gray skin for a moment before the glamour returns. Peter starts shaking, and Steve finds himself grabbing him, shaking him, yelling “Peter! Peter!”

The boy gasps, and his eyelids flutter. It takes a moment for him to refocus on Steve, and when he finally manages to form words he announces “I have to go!”

“What? No, no way am I letting you go, Peter, what  _ was  _ that--”

Steve hardly finishes his sentence before Peter wriggles his foot against Steve's chest and pushes, and Steve is reminded once again of his super strength. Steve flies upwards and slams against the ceiling, and when he falls and lands on the ground tile and mortar rain back down around him. 

He gets to his knees just in time to see Peter sprint around the corner, running so fast he almost hits the wall as he makes the tight turn. 

Steve doesn't pursue him. He knows that this time, he won't be able to catch him. 

  
  


\-----------

**_Acheron_ **

  
  


Hades is waiting for him. 

He’s standing knee high in the water, his presence sending out shockwaves through the currents. Peter doubts that anyone else would be able to feel them, but to him, it feels like his skeleton has been put on vibrate. The raw power that emanates from Hades is enough to make him go weak in the knees. 

Peter’s body merges together, his atoms recombining in his life water and Hades doesn’t even seem surprised when Peter emerges, standing up and gasping for air more from the effort of running and the shock of the god’s presence than reforming in the underworld. The itchy glamour iswas gone, and the water instantly refreshesd Peter, hitting him with a rush like he’d just slept a full eight hours and then drank three glasses of water. 

He gasps— eyes wide, water streaming off of him— and when his feet finish forming, he stumbles forwards. Hades catches him easily, sending another shockwave of energy down his spine. 

For two weeks, Peter has been silent around the god. He’d done his duties, trying to stay out of the way as much as possible to the point where he didn’t even see his master every day. When he wasn’t working in the palace he was working in the Olympian throne hall, collecting information to write down in his journal and watching for any big events. He’d been hoping for something, but alas, nothing, and Peter was beginning to worry he’d have to wait until Steve’s wedding for anything newsworthy enough to break his silence and talk to his master again.

But now, Hades had summoned him. He could summon him in other ways, but physically climbing into his waters and not even trying to mask his powers had sent shockwaves down Peter’s spine. And now, Hades iswas here, holding Peter upright. Peter should have gone slower, but once he was being called it was like he physically couldn’t. He had jumped into his waters and allowed his body to disintegrate on contact, reforming immediately after in the other realm. 

Hades’ hands are strong and firm on Peter’s shoulders, and Peter finds himself physically shaking at the contact. The isolation had been  _ hell.  _

__ “Are you oka—”

“What do you need from me?” Peter interrupts, immediately mentally cursing himself afterwards. “Excuse me, master.”

“You’re fine. Are you alright? You look… shaken.” 

Peter stumbles with his words, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “I-I-I-I-I’m fine, I was just doing something on Olympus and I was, I was surprised, that’s all. And I ran to the river, I-I-I ran, that’s why I’m out of breath.”

Hades is looking at him the way he always looks at him: not like he could see right through him, but rather like he can see right through his  _ clothes.  _ Anything and everything physical that Peter offers up, every gesture, every movement and every twitch, Hades can see. He gathers these clues up to understand exactly what’s going on in Peter’s head. 

Hades presses two fingers to the pulse point on Peter’s neck, and Peter allows it, even going so far as to tilt his neck further. He closes his eyes, focusing on his own heart rate. 

Hades only speaks again when Peter’s pulse isn’t quite so rapid. “Do I want to know what you were doing on the surface that left you out of breath?”

“Nothing bad,” Peter immediately promises. “It was for the quest.” 

His body motions must confirm it, because Hades nods. “Good. Your punishment is over.”

Peter is hit with a wave of emotion, the primary being exhilaration. But it had only been two weeks; the punishment should have lasted longer. 

As if reading his mind, Hades says “It’s time.”

Peter’s eyebrows shoot up. “It’s time?”

“It’s time,” the god confirms. “Get your armor on, and go to the kitchens. Fuel up; you’ll need it. Then get in position and wait for my instructions.” He lets go of him with finality. 

“Yes sir.” Peter turns, ready to run to the palace, but then remembers and turns back around, the water splashing from his feet in the process. “Master, there is something on Olympus I need to finish, it’ll be quick, I swear, but can I—”

“Go,” He says with a light wave of his hand. “I trust you.” 

The words send a rush of warmth through him. “Thank you. Thank you, master, thank—” 

Hades must see his hesitation because he sighs, opening his arms. Peter is immediately in them, hugging him tightly enough to break a normal man’s rib cage. “Thank you. I won’t let you down.”

When he pulls back, there’s a light glimmer in Hades’ eyes. “I know.”

  
  


————————-

**_Heracles_ **

  
  


Steve takes a few painfully long hours to finish up his tasks for the day. The Throne Hall is almost completely empty, and sections of torches have already been put out. He walks through spots of darkness, and he can’t stop thinking about how much Cerberus would like this. 

As he finishes his mindless tasks, he thinks of Peter. He hopes he’s okay; the way his eyes rolled back in his head was terrifying, and it tugged on repressed memories from Steve’s days of laboring; friends and comrades that had died, the blankness that filled theirre eyes, when they still had eyes, that is. War was violent, monsters were worse, and the entire experience had left Steve with a numb ache in the back of his mind. 

Peter had said some important things Steve needs to unpack. Peter had been spying for… at least a few weeks, if not more— and he said Wanda did not have good intentions. Well, Steve could tell him that, but it iswasn’t like Wanda had specifically bad ones either. She wantsed him, at least that he knew. He iswas wanted; iswasn’t that good enough?

Hades and Persephone’s marriage was, in at least some ways, arranged. Despite that, they thrived together, living proof that it was possible. They could make this work. 

That doesndidn’t change the fact that when Steve enters his room to a note on his bed, he runs to it, closing the door behind him. His brain thumps with the beat of  _ BuckyBuckyBuckyBucky  _ but when he reads the note he finds it’s not from Bucky at all. It’s Wanda’s handwriting again, which instantly makes Steve’s heart fall; but it’s not a letter, and it’s not addressed to him. 

On the top of the note, it says:  _ Vows For Wedding- Need To Practice More. _

And suddenly, Steve gets the idea that he really isn’t supposed to read the rest. 

But he does. 

Because fuck Her. 

(But still, in Steve’s mind, he hopes that Wanda’s vow redeems her. She wrote vows for both of them, and Steve’s may have felt extreme, like he iswas promising his everything and then some— but maybe hers arewere too? Maybe she really feelsfelt something, maybe she iswas really trying, maybe this would be a love story no one would ever have expected.)

The letter reads—

_ A marriage is a covenant in which one person can not hold the burden by themselves. A one sided marriage is no marriage at all, and for that reason, as long as you uphold your promises I will uphold my own. I promise to be good to you, and take care of you in my best judgment. You are willingly given up your consent, and I will willingly take it, and stay aware of the unique responsibilities that come with it. I swear upon the River Styx that I will love you the way you deserve to be loved: no more, and no less; to have and to hold, as long as you shall live. _

  
  


Steve stands up slowly. It takes some effort, but he manages to tear his eyes off of the note, set it on the bed. Leave it on the bed. 

He walks to the door, fully planning on leaving the vows on the bed and never coming back, but when he tries the door it’s locked. He’s trapped. 

  
  


————————

  
  


Steve wakes up in the morning and immediately panics because  _ oh gods he’s late he’s fucking late why didn’t he wake up?  _ He’s dressed and out the door in no time flat, moving so quickly that he’s halfway to the kitchen before he realizes that his door was unlocked. Steve chalks the entire thing up as a mistake on the behalf of his mind, and finishes jogging to the kitchen. 

He takes the servants passageways— and he’s always taken the servants passageways, how much more obvious could it be that he iswas never going to be an Olympian, for fuck’s sake— and though he knows he’s late from the brightness that streamed inside his room, he doesn’t know how bad it is. The Olympians usually have meetings in the morning, which means that the guests are most likely already here. Steve needs to pretend he knows what he’s doing, pretend something took a little longer in the kitchen or  _ something _ , because he’s not allowed to mess up, not like this. He has to be good, he has to show the gods that he can handle this. 

The wind spirits in the kitchen seem panicked. They disintegrate and reform sporadically as they move, dropping things and scrambling to catch them before they hit the floor. The kitchen is devoid of servants, which means they must have been ordered to attend to something else. The wind spirits aren’t allowed to go into the throne room when it’s in session, which means that the gods will be ruling with no wine. 

Steve grabs a bottle and a tray of eight wine chalices, carefully balancing everything. He goes to the doors and stops, forcing himself to exhale. He can’t show any sort of anxiousness. 

Once relaxed, he straightens his posture and enters the throne room. 

He sees Bucky and immediately drops  _ everything.  _

Every single head in the room turns to him: all the remaining Olympians, Hades, Persephone, Peter, and three fully armored ghouls that appear to be made out of darkness. The Olympians look almost as panicked as Steve feels, and when Steve does a head count he realizes there are only seven of them; Demeter is gone. 

On the other side of the room is the procession from the underworld. The ghouls stand to the side, and Persephone and Peter stand behind Hades. Their positioning doesn’t suggest reluctance, but support; they follow the lord of the underworld, but they are not afraid. 

Persephone is smiling. Her cheekbones are sharp and angular, and her skin is the tone it is when in the underworld. Wherever her dark robes touch the ground, they turn to smoke. 

On Hades’ other side is Peter, standing strong and powerful in black polished armor, a black and silver sword held at his side. His skin is paler than Steve has ever seen it, and his curls are so dark black they’re almost purple, but he’s practically glowing with pride. He is playing his role as servant to the king of the underworld, and the strength in the way he holds himself is reminiscent of the first day they met, when Peter was willing to make eye contact with Steve when Steve was buck naked. He hadn’t realized at the time, but now he realizes what that gaze means:  _ I know exactly who you are and what you’ve done, and don’t think for a second that you’d be here without my permission. Your very existence is conditional; mine is undeniable.  _

Peter, the Titan Acheron: loyal to a fault. 

As soon as Steve checks on them, his eyes find their way to Hades, and that’s when his heart really starts pounding. Bucky is dressed in a mixture of robes and armor, looking dashing and confident and as powerful as he’s ever been, and his eyes are on Steve and he’s practically  _ beaming _ . His smile is casual, but the excited light in his eyes is not. 

Bucky opens his arms. “Well? Aren’t you going to say hello?” 

All of the eyes in the room are on Steve as he walks across to Bucky, but he feels Wanda’s gaze the heaviest. He knows how she will be sitting; slouched heavily against the armrest of her throne, looking bored out of her mind despite a fluttering heart rate. 

Bucky wraps a familiar arm around Steve’s waist and kisses him. It’s mouth-on-mouth in a room full of probably the worst people to kiss in front of, so Steve keeps it short, but he can’t stop the butterflies hatching in his stomach. 

“I fuckin’ missed you,” Bucky says quietly, like the Olympians wouldn’t be able to hear. They can definitely hear every word. 

Steve might as well be honest. 

He cracks a smile, letting his eyes linger on Bucky’s lips. That first day they saw each other, Steve had been incredibly enticed by Bucky’s lips, and today is no different. “I missed you too.”

Bucky grins back. “Alright. I don’t mean to keep you from your job— please, continue. Ignore me.” 

Steve gives him a questioning look, but Bucky just gives him a little nudge in return. Steve tries not to let his confusion show as he returns to the mess of chalices on the floor and begins gathering them up. A servant is there, holding the wine bottle and looking generally horrified, and Steve doesn’t look at him as he takes the bottle. He walks around the hall, filling each individual god’s glass, and tries not to make eye contact. However, when he gets to Hermes, he can’t help looking at him, whispering “Where’s Demeter?” 

“Man, she’s gone!” Sam hisses back. “The same as all the others, just here one day and gone the next. Her bed’s slept in, but the bedding is bunched up weird, like her body just evaporated in the middle of the night. Steve, what’s going on? You have to tell me.” 

It’s not an order; it’s a request. Okay, so maybe some of the Olympians actually saw Steve as a friend. Steve isn’t lying when he replies “I don’t know.”

With the goblets filled, Steve should probably go back to the kitchen and get more work done, but there’s no way he’s missing this. He stands to the side, wine bottle in hand like he’s only staying to refill wine goblets. 

“As I was saying before I was so  _ rudely  _ interrupted,” Tony says with a pointed look towards Steve, “If you leave now, no major consequences will come your way. We’ve  _ mercifully _ let you get this far, but personally, I’m running out of mercy. It’s seven Olympian gods against you, your  _ minor  _ goddess-wife, and a few servants. Is this really a fight you want to have?” 

It’s enough to make Steve nervous, but Bucky isn’t fazed. “Nephew, how many people have lived on this earth? And about how many of them have died?” 

Tony rolls his eyes. “I don’t know, all of them?”

Bucky makes a  _ so-so _ motion with his hand. “Eh, most. There have been a few exceptions, the ones who haven’t died yet and, of course, the ones who gained immortality before they could come to my kingdom. Isn’t that right, Dionysos?  _ Bruce?”  _ Bucky takes his time giving Bruce a pointed look before continuing. “My armies are stronger in numbers than yours would be even if you managed to enlist every single living human to fight for you. My armies can’t be killed, and even if you  _ somehow _ managed to kill them, I would just release them to fight again. Now, is that really a fight you want to have?” 

It is the very definition of the other shoe dropping. Bucky had taken the power from Tony easily, with hardly any effort at all. And just like that, Tony’s stuck. 

Tony takes his time considering this new information. He narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t.” 

“I don’t want to fight,” Bucky agrees, “I just need you to know that I  _ can _ . But I am not your enemy. Right now, the ship that is Olympus is sinking, but I can help save it. I know what happened to the missing gods.” 

Everyone stiffens, going on high alert. Steve searches Bucky, looking for anything that smells of deceit. 

Clint is the one to ask what everyone is thinking. “Is it you? Do you have them?”

“I don’t. I swear on the River Styx, I did not take them. Them disappearing has nothing to do with me.”

Steve believes him. He wishes it were harder to believe him, but Bucky is the type of person who you can’t help but trust. It’s not ideal, but Steve  _ does  _ trust him.

Natasha and Wanda exchange a look. “Then where are they?”

Bucky opens his hands innocently. “I can’t tell you until we make a deal.”

“That’s unfair!” Wanda accuses.

The corner of Bucky’s nose curls in a snarl before he can tame it down. “It’s perfectly fair,  _ sister _ . I won’t exchange something for nothing.” 

Tony sighs. He appears to be the calmest out of all of the Olympians, but Steve has never been sure just how genuine Tony is. “So what do you want? Come on, death-breath, what are your terms? Do you want to leave the underworld or something?” 

Steve makes eye contact with Persephone, trying to ask a million things with his eyes. She likely doesn’t catch all of it, but her resulting grimace is answer enough. 

“... _ No _ .” Bucky sounds unsure, but his expression doesn’t change. He does, however, have to take a breath to continue. “I want to be made a member of the council. I want veto power.” 

There’s a series of scoffs all around, and Bucky immediately goes on the defensive. “I’m not asking anything unreasonable; I am not asking to hold majority vote or to be made leader of the council. If my causes are passed, it will be because a majority of you  _ agree _ with me, and trust me, you will agree. Believe it or not, I know what I’m doing.” 

On the surface, Tony looks bored, but he’s tinkering with a drafting pencil, and his eyes can’t stay on one spot: signs that he’s thinking deeply about something. Steve decides to take it as a good sign. “Oh, is that all?”

It’s not. “I want to be allowed to travel freely between earth, the underworld, and Olympus. I want the same for my wife.” Persephone very pointed doesn’t look at anyone when he says that. “And the Hestia/Heracles wedding next week? I want it canceled. From now on, no one is allowed to tell Steve who to be with.” 

Instantly, a weight falls off Steve’s chest. Just as quickly, his rib cage tightens again. Can Bucky even do that? Could this actually work?

Bucky’s still not done. “And lastly…” he hesitates and looks directly at Steve, and Steve isn’t quite sure what emotion passes across his eyes. Guilt, maybe? Apology? “I want him to be made a minor god. A  _ real _ minor god, not this bitchy intern thing you have going on. Give him something to rule; he’s proved himself capable, and Nyx knows you need more capable gods on your side.” That last comment is clearly an insult, but it lacks the power of tone to be offensive. Bucky says it like he genuinely believes it, and that alone is enough to make Steve want to agree with everything he says. 

Steve feels ill. If Bucky were to give him what he actually wanted, it would be to be made an Olympian. That’s what Steve had always believed he was working for, even if everyone else carefully avoided telling him he wasn’t. But minor godship is still a huge step up from ‘this bitchy intern thing’ and with Bucky on the council, Steve believes that with time, he could actually move up. Like what Tony had promised him about ‘room for improvement’, but said by someone who is genuine.

The council is quiet for a few moments, processing. Wanda is glaring daggers, and Steve takes a note from Persephone’s book and avoids her gaze. 

Clint is glancing at the other gods unsurely. “That’s... a lot of demands.”

“You’re asking a lot,” Natasha agrees. 

Bucky half-shrugs. “You also can’t say no. Everything I’m asking for is for the good of our entire culture. I don’t enjoy running the underworld, but I’ll continue, because it’s my duty and that means something to me. Your duty, right now, is to do what’s best for your people, and right now that’s to agree to my terms. You can’t afford not to.” 

It’s a direct slap in the face, and it resonates throughout the entire throne room. Behind Bucky, Peter is having a hard time staying still and staring straight ahead. If he looks around to gauge the gods’ reactions, it may come off as uncertainty. 

Tony hums, taking his time. “...Alright. We’ll discuss privately. Guards, escort them into the waiting room.” He refuses eye contact. “Herc, too.” 

Guards appear from the edges and gently direct them in the right direction. They go without trouble; as heavily armed as Bucky’s team seems to be, they are here on a mission of diplomacy.

In the room, Bucky clasps Steve’s face in his hands, looking him over like he’s worried he might be hurt. “We have armed troops outside the palace; they’re currently being watched by the Throne Hall servants. I lied about nothing. Is there anything I did wrong? Anything I need to know about?” 

Steve gently pries his hands away, intertwining them with his own.  _ Equals.  _ “No, I don’t think so. I… I… how long were you planning this?” 

“How long was he planning it? Months.” Maria Hill answers for him. “How long have I been planning it?” A grin. “Decades.” 

“Yes, yes, your plan is perfect,” Bucky says, smiling at her teasingly. “I kneel at your feet.” 

Hill tilts her chin up. “As it should be.” 

“I was… worried,” Steve admits, squeezing Bucky’s hands in his own. “Last night I was locked in my room… at least, I think. I don’t know, I can’t tell what’s real anymore, I’m pretty much just guessing at this point.” 

Bucky looks incredibly sincere when he says “Stevie, I’m real.” 

“I’m real too!” Peter adds helpfully. “I also locked you in your room. You’re head of security, you would have gotten in our way.” 

Bucky doesn’t turn around to address the boy. “We already had a plan in place to deal with that.”

“And my plan made it so we didn’t need to deal with it at all. Admit it, Heracles came in at the perfect moment.” 

“Tone,” Bucky reminds sharply. 

The boy instantly corrects himself, fixing his casual posture into something more professional. “Yes sir, sorry sir.” 

Bucky sighs. “We’re going to have to have a talk later. All four of us. With Steve in the picture, things are going to change, and we need to figure out how it will work.”

Hill sighs too, like she already knows that it will be the worst part of the day. “I hate ‘figuring things out’.”

“Yeah, well, it’s important. Negotiating is non-negotiable.” 

——————

The council, begrudgingly, accepts Bucky’s terms and conditions. A contract is written up and signed immediately, and once Bucky is sure that it is safe he sends his legions home. Peter leads them, and though it isn’t said out loud, Steve knows that they came in through the Acheron river.

They are lead to one of the visitor suites, and Steve immediately volunteers to fetch lunch for them. It’s all been a lot, and he needs to get away from Bucky’s analyzing gaze for five seconds. 

Steve turns down a hallway on the way to the kitchens and finds himself face to face with Wanda, who’s standing with her arms crossed, waiting. She’s already seen him, so it’s futile to turn around now. 

“Wanda,” Steve greets, trying to keep his head down and tone professional. When he tries to pass her, she moves in his way. 

“We would have made a good couple,” she mutters lowly. “We would have made a good team.” 

“Yeah, with you gaining another set of powers and me working like a servant. It would have been fun.” Steve’s tone is sarcastic, but he feels the pinpricks of shame dotting up his spine. 

“Hmm.” She doesn’t deny it. “My vows went missing last night.” 

“Yeah. Someone gave them to me; I read them.” Steve pauses. “They sucked.” 

“They were written from the heart.” 

“Well apparently, your heart doesn’t like me all that much.” 

She snorts. “I would have given you a palace. I would have given you comfort. And, I would have given you something that you will never get from my brother;  _ monogamy. _ If you stay with him, you will forever be fighting for attention with his wife,”  _ and servant _ , Steve adds mentally. “In my vows, I promised to be good to you. It wasn’t a lie.” 

“Yeah, well.” Steve runs a hand through his hair, looking down the hall. They are standing side by side, not looking at each other, but Steve’s body knows Wanda’s, and it craves that warm, feminine touch, just a little. “I guess we’ll never know if that’s true.”

She smirks. “I guess not. Have fun with your boy-toy. And his wife. And whoever else he’s been fucking for the past few centuries.” 

“Thanks. Have fun with… hmm, yourself? Do goddesses masturbate?” 

“I don’t,” she bites out. “I can always find someone to replace you.” 

“Well, then have fun with whoever that ends up being. Goodbye, Hestia.”

  
  


————————

  
  


**_Persephone_ **

**** They sit in the dining room, which has four empty chairs that no one looks at. 

“Alright,” Hephaestus starts. “Why are the gods disappearing and what can we do to stop it?” 

Bucky takes a deep breath, and begins:

“So far, to our knowledge, six major gods have disappeared and one minor. Five of the six gods— Zeus, Hera, Demeter, Aphrodite, and Poseidon— all had something in common.” 

Tony leans back, eyes wide. “They all fought in the Titan War.”

“Exactly. They’re the first generation of gods, and most of the people at this table are second generation.” 

“But Athena and Hecate weren’t first generation.” 

“You’re right,” Bucky agrees. “I think they’re outliers.”

“How so?” 

“When was the last time any of you saw Hecate?” Bucky asks. It takes a few long seconds for Wanda to finally raise her hand. 

“I saw her the night before she died. She looked frail and old. Few people had visited her, and she said that she was running out of magic. She gave me her powers.”

Hill doesn’t know if she believes Wanda, but the facts line up. She excuses it.

“My mother Demeter also looked old, when I last saw her,” Hill offers. “I wasn’t surprised to see her throne empty.”

“So it’s safe to say that Hecate died the same way the others did,” Bucky plows on. “She was the goddess of magic, which caused her to be less and less human everyday, and it eventually did her in. What about Athena-- did anyone notice anything strange before she died?” 

“She was pretty quiet,” Sam contributes. 

Apollo shakes his head. “She was always quiet.” 

“Was she always quiet, or did she get quieter in the years before she left?” Bucky challenges. No one says anything. “Your council no longer needed wisdom. You no longer needed her.” 

“That’s not true,” Artemis argues, but it’s clear she doesn’t believe her own words. 

“But let’s go back to our original theory,” Bucky directs. “If all the first generation gods are dying, then who’s going to die next?” 

Realization dawns in Tony’s eyes. “You are.” 

Hill exhales slowly. They’ve talked about this; they know what has to happen. It’s still intimidating. 

“Right. And Wanda.” Bucky cocks his head. “In fact, I think that Wanda should have died a while ago. Now, why hasn’t she? What sets Wanda apart from everyone else?” 

“She has two sets of powers.”

“Exactly.” 

“If that’s the case, then why aren’t you dead yet?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Because the fates don’t want me dead, I guess. The point is, the older generation of gods are dying, which means we need replacements, like Heracles. Wanda’s already shown that having two sets of powers stops it. Notice, I have wrinkles and she doesn’t. It’s still killing me, but if I get another set of powers then it should stop. And, for the record, it killed Athena, which means that all of you are in danger too.” 

“Your claims don’t line up. You say that they… were lost—”

“Killed,” Maria corrects.

“—that they were  _ killed  _ because they were old, but that it was also because they used their powers too much and that even if we aren’t old, then we can die if we are no longer needed. Again, your claims don’t line up.” 

Bucky looks tired. When Hill looks closer at him, he does, in fact, have wrinkles. They are subtle, but they are there. He may not have been as close to death as her mother was, but death certainly has intentions with him.

“We are humans at our cores,” Bucky recites. Hill’s husband is wise, and intelligent, but whenever he speaks of being human at the core he is reciting her words, repeating them from when she screamed and sobbed at the gates of Odysseus. “And as we stray from what makes us human, as we stop keeping track of time and eating and sleeping and living becomes less of a priority than ruling…”

_ Everything becomes futile. Our bodies decay, and the bones of our universe call out to the bones under our skin… _

__ “Everything becomes futile. Our bodies decay, and the bones of our universe call out to the bones under our skin to take us back.” 

_...to take us back.  _

__ At this point, Bucky adds his own words, making it relevant to the current conversation. “The oldest gods go first because they’ve been fighting the universe the longest, but the ones who are driven from their humanity go next. Nearly 67 years ago, Zeus was the first to leave us, followed soon after by his wife Hera. Zeus was the first to go because out of all of us, he was the oldest, and the least human. He used magic constantly, he loved no one, and he took advantage of everyone, and my dear brother Zeus, if you are still out there then please strike me down for my words.” He pauses, looking up at the ceiling, waiting. Nothing happens. “He’s dead.” 

Wanda is the first to speak up. “So, dear brother. We are next.” 

“Except we aren’t,” he argues. “Because you have two sets of powers. The universe has proclaimed your existence necessary. My humanity has kept me alive this long, but it won’t keep me forever. That is why I need to take over another realm so I don’t die.”

“We should let you die,” Ares comments, looking tired. 

Hill wants to rip his throat out, but Bucky just shrugs. “Then there’d be no King of the Underworld. Do any of you really want to take over my role?”

“He’s not wrong,” Artemis concedes. “But I still don’t like the idea of you taking over another realm. You’d be stretched too thin.”

“That’s where the second part of my plan comes in. It is necessary that we speak to the Egyptian and Norse gods, you know, those ones who’ve been offering their help but you’ve been dismissing? T’Challa says that this had happened to them before, and redistributing the realms fixed things. And, they already have a goddess of the sky. I will take over Zeus’ domain, but it’s the Egyptians who will continue to uphold it. This is the natural way— the way things were always intended to be. If we redistribute the powers of the lost between ourselves and our brother deities, we can stop the deaths and bring true  _ peace _ .”

Hill pushed her shoulders back, looking in between each god to see who would dare oppose her husband. But, for what must have been the first time in history, the gods were completely speechless.

  
  


——————————

Hill watches through the curtains that night, listening to her husband shower his newest lover in honeyed words of affection. Steve looks absolutely lovestruck, clinging onto the god’s body like he needs to continuously remind himself that he is truly there. 

“Thank you,” Steve whispers. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done—”

“Shh, my love. It is done. Things will be better now; I will make sure of it.”

Behind Hill, a new voice rings out, quiet enough as not to disturb the lovers. “Are they still going at it?”

Hill gives Peter a harsh look, which he ignores, ducking around her to look at the pair through the curtains. “Oh, jeez. This is even worse than fucking.”

“I think they prefer the term ‘making love’, actually,” Hill smiles. Peter pretends to gag. 

“They’re disgusting. Should I start job hunting? I feel like now that Steve’s in the picture, I’m never going to see my master again.”

Hill pulls Peter close, cooing at him. “Nonsense. You know our lord; he will make time for all of us. And you have to admit, they make a good pair.”

Peter mumbles something into her shirt, probably ‘I will never admit such a thing’, and Hill laughs softly. 

“Darling?” Bucky calls from the bedroom. “Is that you?”

“Aye, and the boy.”

“Come in, come in. We have much to speak of.”

Hill squeezes Peter’s shoulder, and together, they push open the curtains and enter the room. It’s not just a new room that they are entering, but a new chapter. Everything would change.

Hill can’t wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please comment if you liked this, and let me know if you’d ever want to read more Olympian AU's like this :D

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this last year and never finished it, so I never published it. However, now it is complete, and the next chapter will be out soon! Please comment, I write because I love it but I post to get feedback. I hope you're liking the story!


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